Women and Children First
by rubyt00
Summary: Updated Summary: In the last three weeks Jane had gone through one shock after another—Red John's vicious turn, a dead mother returned, a half-brother materializing from the ether—but the effect of his mother's jotted notes in her travel journal were like a slow burn working towards a cataclysmic blow out that would change things forever. It scared him. Deeply. Rated T/M.
1. Chapter 1

The first one stunned him.

They caught the case on a Monday evening. A husband had come home from work to find his wife and 5-year-old daughter murdered. Traffic on I5 to Lodi was a nightmare and Jane arrived first to the gated subdivision on the edge of town. He followed the flow of procedural activity up to the master bedroom and that's where he felt the electric bolt of shock course through his entire body.

The scene was staged just for him, the woman arranged on the bed just as Angela was when he found her, the bloody smiley face exactly placed above her. And the little girl. Red John had killed her in her own bed, arranged her exactly, and then dragged the twin mattress into the master bedroom so Jane would see them both at the same time.

He was leaving the house as the rest of the team showed up.

"Jane," Lisbon said as he passed her. "Where you going?"

He stopped but couldn't look at her. Rigsby and Cho strolled across the lawn towards them. Talking to the ground, Jane said, "It's Red John. There's nothing more for me to see here." He left before she had time to respond.

"Where's he going?" Rigsby asked as he and Cho joined her.

"I don't know," Lisbon said, "but I'm thinking this is not good."

The second one numbed him.

He'd spent the previous week hanging out in the attic, only occasionally going down to glance at the victim board. Every time Lisbon asked him if he was alright, he deflected and shrugged, "Sure."

By Friday afternoon Lisbon had had enough. She came up to the attic room and said, "You're not okay. No one would be okay after seeing that. He's messing with you."

"And how is that new?" Jane asked.

"This is Red John. You've never avoided a Red John case."

"I'm not avoiding it. It's just like every other Red John case. The evidence at the scene isn't going to lead us to him, so I don't need to scour the details. I've seen them all before. I know them by heart."

He had her there. It was true and she knew it.

"But this one _is_ different," she said.

He knew she wanted him to admit this truth, but he couldn't. He wouldn't. He had such a sense of dread and shame of what was coming, he pretended ignorance just for the relief. Soon enough he wouldn't be able to do even that, and he wasn't sure what was on the other side of that particular reality.

He shrugged, looked out the window. "So, he's messing with me. What else is new?"

The following Monday, they caught the second one.

Another husband coming home from work, but in Stockton this time. Another upscale community, a gargantuan house that was more conceit than function. None of it was lost on Jane as he walked up the winding path to the wide open front door where Cho was obviously waiting for him.

"Hey," Cho said as he stepped in front of Jane.

"Hello," Jane said, feigning amusement.

"It's Red John," Cho said.

"I know."

"It's just like the last one."

Jane saw Lisbon coming down the stairs fast, like she knew he was there.

"Hey Jane."

"Hello Lisbon. Is Cho blocking my way on your orders?"

She frowned at him. "No."

"Good," he said and walked around both of them towards the stairs.

"Jane!" She caught up with him on the stairs and pulled his arm, making him stop. She waited for a forensics tech to pass by them before speaking. "You don't want to go up there. You don't need to, I mean." Her hand fell away from his arm.

He knew she was right. Of course, she was right, but he knew he had to see it anyway. He turned and walked up the stairs, following the activity to the master bedroom. And Cho was right too. It was exactly the same as last time, exactly the same as the night he lost his whole world.

And he felt nothing. No, that wasn't exactly right. He felt like his whole body had been shot up with Novocain. He felt numb and swollen, and if anyone wanted to cut him or shoot him right then, he knew he wouldn't feel a thing.

He surveyed the scene. He knew he didn't need to look at the details of this family's life, the photos on the dresser, the books on the bedstand. The details were not the message, and Jane was getting Red John's psychopathic message loud and clear. He turned and headed back to the stairs.

"Jane." Lisbon was following him again.

"What," he said over his shoulder. The stairs were wide and curved down to an expansive foyer. When he reached the top of them, he felt a little vertigo, like he had just stepped to the edge of a cavernous abyss. He grabbed the railing and used it as he descended, his legs somehow functioning properly.

Lisbon fell in step beside him. "Jane, you cannot take this personally. You cannot blame yourself for this."

He stopped short, still holding onto the railing, and looked at her. She went down a couple stairs before realizing he had stopped. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with—and here was something else he didn't want to admit—fear. She was really afraid for him and that made him afraid. And then angry.

"That up there is very personal, Lisbon," he said loud enough to make the uniformed officers in the foyer look up. "That up there is all about me."

She climbed back up the stairs to him. "No, that is a crazy person going off the deep end of the deep end."

He started down the stairs again, needing to get out of that house, away from the evidence of his own failures.

The third one he didn't even bother going to.

It was in Bakersfield, the following Monday. When the team got up to head for the parking lot, Jane veered for the attic and nobody said anything about it.

Patrick Jane had never before had reason to hate Mondays. That kind of hatred was for those imprisoned in schools and dead-end jobs, neither of which Jane had ever experienced. Mondays were always just another day to figure out what to do.

But now he absolutely hated Mondays.

He heard the team return late in the night but he didn't go down. He tried to sleep but couldn't. When Lisbon came up, he pretended he was asleep and she didn't try to wake him.

When he went down in the morning, the team was still there, processing all the evidence. A third victim board was up, but Jane wouldn't look. He couldn't. He went to the kitchen to make tea, drawing Lisbon's attention.

"There you are," she said, following him. "You get some sleep?"

"Yes," he lied and went to fill the tea kettle.

"You look like hell."

"I'm fine." He put the kettle on the stove and turned to her.

"Right." She looked at him and shook her head. "You know what, Jane? Me and everyone out there—" she crooked her thumb over her shoulder, "knows what this is doing to you. Why do you have to pretend like nothing is happening?"

"I'm not pretending that nothing is happening. I'm choosing to not participate in the investigations."

Lisbon took a moment to absorb this information.

"Okay. That's… okay."

He saw her faltering, which meant she was using the soft gloves on him, and that made him angry again.

And she must have seen his anger because she stopped short and said, "You know what? That's not okay, Jane. Red John has gone freaking nuts and you're telling us you're going to sit this one out? What the hell?"

Jane turned to find the box of tea. He couldn't look at her. He felt the old wave of shame wash over him, the knowledge that his own prideful actions had caused such gruesome results. "He's not going to stop, Lisbon. He's going to keep killing innocent women and children until… I don't know when."

Lisbon came over and stood next to him. "He's off pattern. There's no way he can keep up this pace. Every week, the same scenario. He can't keep it up. He's playing a game to see who will fold first. You can't fold on this, Jane. You can't."

"Don't ask me to go in there and look at those boards," he said, "because I can't do that." He felt her watching him, but he couldn't meet her gaze.

"Are you going to be okay, Jane?" she asked him quietly.

He knew what she was asking. "I don't know," he said. "But I'm doing what I need to do for now."

"Okay," she said. "Then that's that. You do what you need to do. We'll manage."

Jane looked at her and saw she meant it and that she wouldn't hold it against him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Rigsby popped his head in and said, "Boss?"

"Not now," Lisbon said.

"Well," Rigsby said, "um, you might want to hear this."

Jane and Lisbon both looked at him.

"Well, what?" Lisbon asked.

"There's a woman in interrogation room #3 who says she's Jane's mother."


	2. Chapter 2

For the first time in weeks, Lisbon saw Jane smile.

"Oh, this should be good," he bemused.

"What?" Lisbon shot back at Rigsby. "You're kidding, right?"

Hearing that a woman was in interrogation room #3 claiming to be Jane's mother was the last thing Teresa Lisbon expected to hear on day like today. Three women and three children were gruesomely murdered in three weeks and everyone in the CBI expected more to follow. Lisbon didn't need media gawkers showing up and making outlandish claims just to get close to the case. But judging by the amusement she saw on Jane's face, the silver lining might be that he'd find a way to amuse himself while avoiding the elephantine facts taped to the white boards in the middle of the bullpen. The tea kettle whistled shrilly and Jane set about making a cup of tea.

"No, boss, she's really there," Rigsby said. "Pretty adamant about seeing Jane too. Wouldn't say why she needed to see him."

"We'll be right there," Lisbon scowled. Turning to Jane, she said, "I hate the media."

Jane dunked his teabag in the teacup.

"Look, I don't know if you know this, Jane, but word leaked out about the crime scenes and the media was all over the last one. We've been fielding calls for interviews with you and your picture has been plastered all over the morning, noon and evening news. It's disgusting."

Jane shrugged. "It sells ads."

Lisbon watched him dunking his teabag. "I don't remember you ever mentioning your mother."

"That's because I never have."

"I guess I assumed she was dead."

"She's been dead for a very long time."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. The world's a better place because of it." Jane tossed his teabag in the sink. "Shall we?"

They entered the viewing room of interrogation room #3 and saw Van Pelt across from a woman with long blonde hair that was going gray. Her clothes were expensive but casual, suggesting a more carefree than country club bent. She was visibly distraught.

Rigsby stood at the window watching her. "I can see a resemblance. But she's not much older than Jane."

"Stop it," Jane said, squinting at her.

"No, really," Rigsby said. "Around the eyes."

"Meh. She's an imposter. The question is what's her game and why now."

"What's her story?" Lisbon asked.

"Isn't saying much. Says her name is Patricia Steiner and that she just moved to San Francisco from somewhere in Brazil and heard about Jane on TV. She won't give anything else up. Says it's complicated and she just wants to see Patrick."

"You been able to back it up?"

"Cho's working on it. But she showed us her passport. She's been living in third world countries for the last twenty-five or so years."

"Off the grid, how convenient," Jane said and sipped his tea.

"You see anything?" Lisbon asked Jane.

"She seems genuinely upset. And determined. Other than that. Nothing."

"All right, come with me."

Jane followed Lisbon into the room, relieving Van Pelt wordlessly. The woman started and then rose when she saw Jane, clutching her purse as she stood.

"Patrick," she said. Tears rose to the surface, and she waged a battle to hold them back.

"Yes," Jane said, turning on the charm and flashing a wide smile at her. He held his free hand out to her to shake. "I'm Patrick Jane. And you are?"

"I…" The woman looked at Jane not knowing what to do.

Lisbon rolled her eyes. She wasn't about to let Jane turn this woman, imposter or not, into the tormented mouse to his playful cat. "I'm Agent Lisbon. Please, take a seat."

Jane withdrew his hand, still beaming at the woman. Lisbon was no mentalist, but she could see a garden variety of emotions play across the woman's face. The wattage emanating from Jane's smile was enough to stun any woman into a deer-in-headlights trance.

Lisbon sat and saw Patrick still holding the woman's gaze, and, frankly, the woman looked like she could have been already hypnotized if not for the obvious distress she was in.

"You…." The woman stammered at Jane.

"Jane," Lisbon said. "Sit down. Both of you. Sit down."

Jane sat beside Lisbon, sliding his teacup onto the table. He was clearly going to milk this for any amusement he could.

Lisbon waved at the woman. "Over here. Yeah, here. I'm the agent in charge." When the woman finally looked over and sat down, Lisbon felt almost a pang of sympathy at the very apparent pain on the woman's face. That is, until she remembered that this was just wasting her time and she should be out looking for the mistake that Red John would eventually make. Maybe already had.

"Can you tell me why you are here claiming to be Mr. Jane's dead mother, because, frankly, we have a lot of important work to do."

"I…" the woman looked back and forth between Lisbon and Jane in confusion.

"Seriously," Lisbon said. "Why are you here?"

"Because I… I really am his mother."

Jane exhaled a chuckle.

"You really don't remember me?" she asked him.

"Who sent you here?" Jane asked.

"No…" She stopped and regarded him.

Lisbon was suddenly struck by the resemblance, the shape of her eyes, their blueness, the way she seemed to be taking in the details of Jane, like she was assessing and calculating at the same time. The silence of the room got a little too weird for Lisbon and she was about to start her own questioning when the woman spoke.

"My name is Patricia Steiner. Thirty-five years ago I was Patricia Jane. Forty-five years ago I gave birth to you, Patrick."

Lisbon looked at Jane, who showed absolutely no reaction whatsoever. Except for the slight squint, which Lisbon knew meant he was about to go into skewer mode.

Except he didn't. The silence went a few shades even weirder as the stare-off continued.

"What the hell is going on?" Lisbon finally said.

"Red John sent her," Jane said.

Lisbon looked wide-eyed at Patricia. That thought hadn't even crossed her mind and it was certainly something to consider.

Patricia calmly said, "Nobody sent me. I saw your picture on TV. And even if I hadn't heard your name I would have known it was you."

"My mother has been dead for thirty years," Jane said. "I'm surprised at the shoddy research. You're either new to this or were given bad information, but I will say it's the only thing giving you away. You're good."

"This is not a con, Patrick. I can see why you might think that, considering the circumstances, but I assure you I am very much alive."

Jane took a sip of his tea and smiled at her. "Okay. Let's play a game called "Convince Me." I'll bet I have you out of this building in under ten minutes."

"Who told you I was dead?" Patricia asked. "Alex?" She saw something in Jane's reaction. "Of course. Of course he would tell you that. He conned his own mother. Why not his son?"

Jane set his cup down and smiled again.

"Thirty years ago you would have been fifteen. Why did he tell you that then?" Patricia said, more to herself than to Jane. "Why did he wait that long?"

Jane just kept smiling at her and Lisbon saw resignation settle in on Patricia's face. The question was whether it was resignation at her son's obstinacy or at her failed con. The weird silence was back and Lisbon waited for some quip or insult from Jane. Except it didn't come. He just kept smiling at Patricia as she watched him a little sadly.

Then Patricia said very quietly, almost a whisper, "You are safe, you are loved, and you are wise."

"Who told you those words?" he demanded, startling both Patricia and Lisbon. He stood up. "Who told you that?"

Patricia shook her head, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

"Jane… " Lisbon warned.

"Tell me who told you that!"

"Nobody told me!" Patricia cried out. "I made it up! On the day you were born. I said it to you every night when I put you to bed."

Lisbon stood up. "Okay, everybody needs to just calm down."

"You're a liar," Jane seethed, ignoring Lisbon completely.

"No, Patrick. I left that world a long time ago. I can see Alex poisoned you against me. He was very good at that—poisoning the well. But I am your mother and you need to consider that anything he told you about me and why I left is probably a lie, and I would, at the very least, like the chance for you hear my side of the story. There are parts I am not proud of, but I promise you I will tell you the truth."

If Lisbon had to call it then and there, she'd say this woman was Jane's mother. She saw Jane looking at the woman, assessing and calculating, trying to read her for answers. The resemblance between them was more obvious when they were animated. Lisbon had a sick feeling that any answers weren't going to be easily found.

"You're a liar," Jane said again before turning and leaving interrogation room #3.


	3. Chapter 3

Jane stormed through the bullpen heading for Lisbon's office. All his internal alarm systems were going ballistic and given the gamut of emotions he'd been stewing in for the last three weeks and the scant hours of sleep he was running on, Patrick Jane was experiencing what Lisbon would describe as _going completely ape shit_. He knew he was reacting strongly, and was thankful that only Van Pelt was out in the bullpen at her computer, surreptitiously keeping an eye on him. If he thought the situation less dangerous, he'd had gone for a drive to cool off, but he was certain that the timing of this woman's arrival was too coincidental to believe at face value.

He paced the office until Lisbon finally showed up. "Jesus, Jane. What the hell—"

"That woman is _not_ my mother. That woman has Red John written all over her," he blurted out.

"Okay, Jane, you need to calm down." Lisbon's tone was the antithesis to creative leaps of logic. It suggested a thoroughly boring sifting of the evidence in hand.

He was in manic mode. "I can't. She knows things that _no one else_ could know. If Red John knows those things, then he is dangerously close. I'm sorry, Lisbon, but this is, this is-"

"Jane. You need to calm down." This time she ordered it. She reached out to him and led him to her couch, sitting down with him.

He rubbed his hands up and down his legs to calm their trembling.

"You need to breathe," Lisbon said. "We'll get to the bottom of this."

"I'm sorry. I know I'm… I'm not… I haven't had much sleep lately," he admitted. He took a long breath and sat back in the couch to help calm his system.

"I've got Cho with her now. She's not going anywhere anytime soon. But we can't hold her so we have to keep her interested in staying. We're tracking down any files, social security, birth certificates, marriage licenses, whatever."

"She's using an alias," Jane said. "Any official records will be faked."

"You don't know that," Lisbon said. "Jane, you're jumping to conclusions. That's not like you. Yes, she could be an imposter, but that doesn't mean she's working for Red John. Or, and I know you don't want to hear this, she could actually be your mother."

"And _that_ doesn't mean she _isn't_ working for Red John," Jane added. And that possibility was exactly what was sending his alarm systems into overdrive. What if she really was his mother? What if Red John had found her and turned her into a disciple?

"Okay," Lisbon said. "We're going to slow this train down. You're going to tell me everything you know or remember about your mother."

Van Pelt was at the door. "Boss."

"Not now, Van Pelt. Just keep digging. Whatever you can get in the shortest amount of time. We don't know how long we can keep her here, and I need to talk to Jane first. Tell everyone else we're meeting in 20 with whatever you've got."

"Okay, boss."

Lisbon turned back to Jane. "Tell me right now, do you think this woman could be your mother?"

"Do I think she is? No. Is it possible? I don't know. Maybe."

"You don't recognize her at all?"

Jane shook his head. "No. I mean, I was young. It was a long time ago."

"She does seem a little young to be your mother. How old was your mother when she had you?"

Jane had never considered this. "I don't know."

"You don't have a birth certificate?"

"Well, yeah, but I've never really looked at that part. I guess it's on there."

"There's not that many parts to a birth certificate, Jane. You never looked at how old your parents were when you were born?"

Jane shrugged. "No."

"So I gathered that your mother left sometime before her death was announced, that you weren't in contact with her at the time of her death. Was that true, that you only have your father's word about her death?"

"Yes."

"Did he say how he knew she was dead? What the circumstances were?"

Jane tried to remember. Patricia, if that was really her name, had been right about his age. He was 15 when he heard, because he and Angela were already together and he remembered telling her.

"We didn't talk about my mother after she left. So I remember it was strange when he just said out of the blue that she was dead."

"You didn't ask about it."

"No."

"Why on earth not?"

He realized that his answers to Lisbon's questions were odd. Even Angela had questioned him the night he had heard, asking him how his mother had died and expecting him to be upset. And he had just answered, _I don't know. She's dead. What does it matter? _At fifteen, he realized, you can get away with that. At 45 and with Teresa Lisbon, you had to answer for it. But he couldn't.

"I just didn't. I don't know why."

"How old were you when she left?"

"I was 10. I had just turned 10. She threw a big birthday party for me because I was a decade old. And a couple days later she was gone. I woke up and she was gone."

"She didn't tell you she was leaving?"

"No."

"Do you know why she left?"

Jane had to stop and think. He heard the difference in Lisbon's tone, how she was moving off her cop questioning mode into concerned-for-his-sanity mode. It made him squirmy. Plus, he hadn't thought about this in years and years. Thirty-five to be exact. Give or take a few months. But once he remembered, it all came out. "She was tired of the carnie life. She found someone else, some guy. She didn't want to be a mother anymore."

"Is that what your father told you?"

And that's when Jane split into two: he was the 10-year-old who believed every word his father said because his mother wasn't there to refute it and the 45-year-old who saw how a small-time grifter/carnie whose wife had just left him might make her appear to be a heartless whore to their only son.

Jane stood up and started pacing again. "Okay. Yeah. I can see that. Yeah. But it's still all just broad strokes. Anyone with a psychopathic bent could find this out and use it." He stopped and turned to her. "Lisbon, you know as well as I do that Red John has taken a turn. And it's directly aimed at me. Those mothers and daughters…" He couldn't go on. Every time he thought about those victims, women and children chosen randomly but _specifically_ because of him…it made him sick. No matter what anyone said, he _was_ responsible.

"Jane, you are understandably emotional about this. We're going to figure this all out, but we need to process things one at a time. Let's figure out if this woman is really your mother or not first. Then we can move on to whether she is working for Red John or not. Either way, you need to pull yourself closer to that vest of yours. You can't show her what you're really thinking. Quit accusing her of being in Red John's camp. We need to see what she wants and the only way that will happen is if she thinks she's in. We need to keep her close."

"Right. Of course. You're right."

"Yeah. I have to say I'm a little concerned I had to even say all that."

Jane shook his head. "I told you…. I'm not…"

Lisbon stood up. "I know. Let's just see what the team has got."

He followed her out into the bullpen. Van Pelt waved them over. "I've got a lot, boss," she said.

"Okay," Lisbon said. "Let's get Rigsby and Cho in here. See what they've got. We've got to be quick about this. She can walk anytime."

The team assembled around Van Pelt's computer and she easily took the lead. "There's a long trail here," she said. "Patricia and Alex Jane were married in Scottsdale, Arizona and divorced in Joplin, Missouri. Patrick was born in Slidell, Louisiana."

"Slidell?" Rigsby said. "Seriously?"

"Dude," Cho said.

Patrick raised his hands to form the question _What?_

"Can we focus here?" Lisbon asked.

Van Pelt continued, "Alex filed for alienation of affections and since Patricia never responded, he was granted full custody of Patrick. Social Security records show she worked menial jobs across the Southern states heading west, ending in San Francisco. She married Randall Steiner five years after her divorce. He's a scientist with the WHO and has spent most of his career researching medicinal plants of the rain forests. He has an extensive list of scholarly articles, but has also made a name for himself by actively promoting micro lending as a way to prevent further deforestation. He's basically been everywhere in Brazil, but spent his early career on the island of Borneo. I've tapped into the expat sites and Patricia was very much a celebrity in both Borneo and Brazil. She's known as a psychic. She apparently specializes in finding lost children."

Van Pelt clicked on a search menu tab she had open and a full Google page of articles about Patricia Steiner showed pictures of her at various ages and with the children she had found and their happy families.

"Whoa," Rigsby said.

"And we're all going to sing Hallelujah to a simple Google search," Jane scoffed. "All of that can be conjured up by a saavy 12-year-old."

"I've considered that," Van Pelt said. "But I've spent the last hour mining these articles and webpages and if that is the case, we're talking a serious subterfuge here."

"Um, like a psychopathic kind of subterfuge?" Jane asked.

"How old was Jane's mother when she gave birth?" Lisbon asked.

Van Pelt brought the record up on the screen and searched for the info. "Seventeen."

Everyone, even Jane raised their eyebrows at that.

"Really?" Jane said.

"That's what it says," Van Pelt answered.

"Does anybody know how old Patricia Steiner is?" Lisbon asked.

"Passport said 62. She just got a California driver's license last month. Dates match," Rigsby said. "Oh, and her husband is still in Brazil. He hasn't been back to the States in over two years."

"17 and… 45…numbers add up," Lisbon said, looking at Jane.

He shook his head. "I'm not believing anything short of a DNA test."

"What's she like down there, Cho?" Lisbon asked.

"The same. Upset, but expecting to see Jane again."

"We risk losing her if we ask her to submit to a DNA test," Lisbon said. "If she agrees, we can try and push it through, but it'll take time to get the results."

"Well let's see if she'll even agree to it. This could all be over in a few minutes," Jane said.

"I promised her I'd bring you back," Lisbon said. "You coming with me?"

Jane looked at her.

"Hello?"

"I'm thinking," he said.

"Why don't you walk and think at the same time. The rest of you, keep digging. Go back further on her. Get what you can about her and her parents. Get her phone records. Find out what's going on with the husband."

Jane followed her out of the bullpen. When they were out of earshot of the others, he said, "I shouldn't see her now. I'm overtired. I'm not thinking clearly."

Lisbon stopped walking and turned to him. "We need to get answers, Jane. You are the only reason she is here."

"I need to rest. I'm not going to be any help to you like this. She's very good and I can't get a read on her."

"Jane, she could be telling the truth. That might be why you're not getting a read."

"The timing is suspicious. You have to admit that."

"Okay. Okay. Go get some rest. I'll do what I can to stall her."

"Thanks."

"Is it possible that your father might have hypnotized you?"

Jane frowned. "No. He didn't know how. Why are you asking that?"

"I thought he taught you."

"No, I discovered it after I left. Why would you think he hypnotized me?"

Lisbon shrugged. "The thought just crossed my mind."

"But why?"

"I don't know, there's just something off. It's like you have holes in your memories where most kids who lost a parent that suddenly would have mountains."

"My mother walked away. Yours was taken. There's a difference."

"Yes, there is. But there's still something off about it. I'm just saying you might want to consider what that is about."

"I was young."

"I know, and you're tired now, but 10 is old enough to be aware of what's happening in the adult world and to remember it. Especially something as traumatic as losing your mother."

"I'll consider it."

"Is there anything you want me to ask Patricia?"

"There's only one question to ask her at this point."

"What's that?"

"Will you hand over some of your DNA?"

Lisbon pressed her lips together and smiled. "Go get some rest, Jane. I'll let you know what she says."


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks to everyone for their reviews and feedback. They're very much appreciated. _

* * *

Lisbon went to the viewing room of interrogation room #3 first. She wanted to collect her thoughts, map out a strategy. There were so many threads to follow her head was starting to ache. And Jane wasn't helping. He was off, his memories were off, and, seriously, if Lisbon had to call it right now, she'd say Patricia was the real deal. But Jane was so adamant this woman was an imposter. Wildly adamant. And that was a problem.

Jane was the guy who could jump to elegant conclusions that were almost always rock solid, the guy who saw six chess moves ahead of everyone else. Maybe sleep would help, if he could get it, but Lisbon was starting to wonder if it wasn't so much the lack of sleep or the skill of this supposed grifter to blame for Jane's off-ness. No, it seemed pretty clear to Lisbon that the problem was Jane's unresolved issues about his maybe dead, maybe not, mother.

And what the hell? How was it she never noticed he had never talked about his mother? Jane knew that losing her mother at a young age was a defining part of her life and he never once mentioned that he had lost his mother young too? What was that? He'd been so caviler about it, so unlike … Jane. How could a man who spent ten years seeking revenge for the death of his wife and child be so cold and dismissive when it came to the loss of his mother? It was definitely weird.

Lisbon watched Patricia through the glass. Now that she had seen a resemblance, she couldn't stop seeing it. The eyes and a little bit of the mouth. And the woman was obviously running a serious internal monologue through her head. Lisbon could almost see the twists and turns of some inner debate going on: It was very Jane-like. A casual observer might think this woman was a little crazy, but judging by what Lisbon had seen earlier, Patricia was as quick and smart as Jane. That was definitely going to be another problem.

And so she decided she would play Good Cop to Jane's Crazy Cop. She'd give Patricia the benefit of the doubt, keep her hooked until, ideally, they either found conflicting or corroborating evidence. In the meantime, she hoped Jane would come back to his senses and bring some much-needed insight.

When she entered interrogation room #3, Patricia looked expectantly behind her. The sweet spot that Lisbon had to find was one where she could keep Patricia engaged in wanting to see Jane without actually delivering him, for the time being.

"Hi Patricia, I'm sorry to keep you waiting," she said as she took the seat across from her. "How are you doing?"

Patricia exhaled with a laugh embedded in a tortured cry. She shook her head. "I truly never thought I would see my son again. I really can't describe how I'm doing."

Seriously. Lisbon would call it right now if she didn't have Crazy Jane on her shoulder whispering in her ear. But it wasn't her job to make that call just yet—Jane had a point about the timing.

"Could you explain that to me?" Lisbon asked. "Because I don't understand why Patrick is behaving the way he is. I'd like to know why you thought you would never see your son again. I would really like to hear your story. I realize that you came here to be reunited with your son, but I'm sorry to say he's not ready for that yet."

Patricia listened to Lisbon, and Lisbon now experienced the full brunt of Patricia's gaze. It was a very Jane-like gaze, like she could see all your ugly parts and was about to make a humorless assessment of them.

"Why are you calling him Patrick?"

"Excuse me?"

"You don't usually call him Patrick. Why are you calling him that now?"

Lisbon squinted at Patricia. She hated that she squinted. "I don't understand."

"I assume your people are busy checking up on me," Patricia said, "and you're here to keep me from leaving. I'd appreciate if you were just straight with me. I am not a stranger to these sorts of interviews."

"Okay," Lisbon said. "We need to verify who you are, yes."

"And Patrick?"

"He was raised by grifters. He won't be satisfied without a DNA test."

"Fine."

"Fine as in—"

"Yes, take my blood, do a swab…" she circled a finger at her mouth.

"All right," Lisbon said. "I'll get a lab technician down here right away." Lisbon left to do just that. When she returned, she sat down and said, "Thanks."

Patricia nodded. "For the record, I was not a grifter. That was Alex."

"Okay," Lisbon said. "Sorry."

"Did Patrick say I was a grifter?"

"You know, frankly, in all the years I've known him, he never mentioned his mother."

Patricia was visibly moved by this. She shook her head. "When I decided to come over here to see him, I never expected I would have to convince him. Ask him to forgive me? Yes. But convince him I was his mother? I didn't expect that."

"He was young when you left."

"He was 10 and we had been _very_ close. He never spent a day in his life without me until I left. I find it disturbing that he doesn't recognize me. I have not changed that much."

"I'm sorry," Lisbon said, "but that just begs the question: why would you leave like that, especially if you were so close?"

Patricia took a deep breath in and exhaled. "It was not my idea. There were circumstances I wasn't able to deal with on my own, but I need to tell him myself. I don't want him to hear my story from anyone else but me."

"Fair enough. But I seriously don't think that will happen until after the DNA results come back."

"In Brazil, that would take weeks."

"We'll push it through, but, worst case, it could be a couple days."

"You know him well." It wasn't a question.

"I know him as well as he lets me know him."

Patricia smiled. "He was always very discerning. People had to prove they were trustworthy before he would befriend them."

"He's not so much into the befriending these days," Lisbon said.

"And you care for him, more than you even admit to yourself."

"We're friends," Lisbon said, "And don't read me. Having one Jane around is more than enough."

Patricia smiled again.

"So," Lisbon said, "You're a psychic. You're quite famous in certain circles."

"Yes, in Brazil, people with the gift of insight are revered. Here in the States, it's a sideshow act."

Lisbon thought about warning her of Jane's opinion of psychic's but decided it wasn't relevant or necessary. Patricia was already being cooperative and didn't need Good Cop tactics. "And why _are_ you back in San Francisco when your husband is still in Brazil?"

Patricia looked surprised and shook her head. "First world law enforcement will take some getting used to. The speed of information is impressive."

Only then did Lisbon fully realize that Patricia, if her story were really true, had actually played a very similar role to Jane's at the CBI, except it was in a foreign country, with far more limited resources, and maybe without the revenge part.

"You've been out of the country for over 20 years, why come back now and without your husband?" Lisbon asked.

Patricia hesitated and then struggled to answer. "It was just… time. My husband will retire in a couple years, and you can say I'm doing the advance work of returning fulltime."

"Where is your husband?"

"He's doing field work in the Brazilian rain forest."

"We might want to contact him for questioning."

"That might be difficult."

Lisbon's radar got a ping. "Why's that?"

"He works in very remote areas and is mobile. It would take some time to get word to him and then more time for him to get to civilization."

The ping went to a definite blip. As Jane would say, that seemed a little too convenient. Lisbon would have the team dig deeper on the husband.

Patricia smiled. "I know it sounds … farfetched, but it is the truth. It's what he does, what he has done for over 25 years."

"Okay," Lisbon said.

"You believe I am his mother, but Patrick has made you doubt me."

Lisbon frowned. "Patrick, I mean, _Jane_, doesn't make me do anything. I'm a cop. I follow the evidence."

"You're wondering how you're going to keep me in Sacramento if Patrick won't talk to me."

"Okay, enough," Lisbon said. "You came to us. I'm not in this room looking for a psychic reading."

"You don't need to worry, Agent Lisbon. I'm not going anywhere. I lost my son once already. I won't lose him again without a fight."

Lisbon saw that she was serious and while the pronouncement brought a measure of relief on one front, she knew what Jane's reaction to it would be. If the DNA test proved Patricia was Jane's mother, Jane would just turn obsessive about proving she was working for Red John.

And wouldn't a Red John disciple want to find a reason to tenaciously hang on? God, this was going to be a pain in the ass, and it was distracting them from the case at hand in a big way. Lisbon couldn't help but wonder if that wasn't the plan all along. Jane was having a hard enough time dealing with the latest murders that were intentionally done just to torment him, and now this?

Lisbon had to admit it read very much like a Red John plot. Emotionally fraught and messy. She hoped Jane was upstairs getting some sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Jane was exhausted. He had spent the better part of the last two hours trying to sleep on his makeshift bed in the attic, but Lisbon's questions and comments kept nagging. He had tried answering them from all sorts of angles and couldn't come up with any that made sense. Like why didn't he remember what his mother looked like? He remembered being 6 or 7 or 8 but none of his memories included his mother.

Even his 10th birthday party memories, which had been a huge deal for all the carnie kids at the time, was completely devoid of any specific images or memories of the person who had made it all happen. All he remembered was that she had made it happen. Then again, he had seen no photos of her for over 35 years. His father had destroyed them all after she left, and that _might_ explain some of it. But then again, he was the King of memory retention. He had begun using the Memory Palace technique at a very young age, like maybe 5 or 6, when he was learning math equations and animal kingdoms and Egyptian dynasties.

And why didn't he have any memories of how he felt about his mother leaving and then later dying? It was very strange. The lack of any emotional content about such a loss was a telltale sign of a psychopath or sociopath. And yet anyone who knew him could attest that he knew how to grieve. It did make him wonder about hypnosis. But who could have hypnotized him? It could have only been someone later in his life, though that would be impossible to figure out if he was hypnotized to forget.

And so his thoughts and internal inquires continued in a mental Mobius Strip until he fell into a half sleep, half wakeful stupor. His eyes were closed but real sleep would not come. At one point he had the foggy thought that at least this woman had kept him from thinking about the mothers and daughters Red John had killed because of him, but this thought was closely followed by a hot wave of shame and so the singular silver lining quickly turned into a new line of inquiry about Patricia being a Red John disciple that looped one-sidedly around and around again.

Eventually, he gave up and went downstairs to see what had happened with Lisbon's interview of Patricia. When he entered the bullpen and saw Patricia sitting on his couch, in his spot, he went completely ape shit again.

"Lisbon!" he yelled out, making a beeline for Lisbon's office. All eyes turned to watch him—Patricia, Van Pelt, Rigsby, Cho, a few agents with names he never committed to memory—he didn't care. His alarm systems were at full tilt again. "Lisbon!"

He saw Lisbon rise from her desk and she met him at the door to her office. "What? What happened?"

Jane pointed at Patricia. "She's on my couch!"

Confused, Lisbon looked at Patricia, who looked horrified. Lisbon grabbed Jane's outstretched arm and pulled him into her office, slamming the door behind them. "What the hell, Jane?"

"What are you doing?" he demanded. "She's not one of us. She's _not_ one of us!"

"I know that, Jane," Lisbon said calmly.

"Then what is she doing on my couch?!"

"Jane, you need to calm down."

"No, this is how it starts. She'll get into the inner sanctum and then you'll forget—"

"Okay, now you're just insulting me," Lisbon said, cutting him off.

"But—"

"No, Jane, _stop it_." She pointed to her couch and said, "Sit down and shut up."

Jane closed his mouth and looked at her.

"Sit," Lisbon said in a dead serious low voice.

Jane went to the couch and sat. He watched Lisbon look out into the bullpen. All eyes were still on them. She went and yanked the door open and barked, "There's work to be done. Let's do it, people." Then she yanked it shut again.

The team sheepishly went back to their duties, but Jane saw Patricia was still watching them, closely. Lisbon intentionally turned her back on Patricia and said, "What did I tell you, Jane? You need to play your cards closer to the vest."

Jane sunk back into the couch and let out a deep exaltation and closed his eyes, all the fight completely drained from him. He heard her closing the blinds of her office and then felt the weight of her sit next to him on the couch. He opened his eyes and saw she was waiting for him.

"This right here?" she said, motioning her finger between him and her and the couch. "_This_ is the inner sanctum. Got it?"

Jane closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them again, he looked right at her and said, "Okay."

"You didn't get any sleep, did you?" she asked.

"No."

"When was the last time you really slept?"

"I don't know. What day is it?"

"Tuesday."

He looked at her. "Only Tuesday? So Bakersfield was only yesterday?"

Lisbon pressed her lips together and smiled her "Wow, you're a mess" smile. "Yes, Bakersfield was yesterday."

"The next one will be south of that," he said. "I think. I think it's all going to lead to Malibu. But I'm … a little fuzzy."

"Jesus, Jane," Lisbon said.

"What?"

"I just… I didn't think you were following the case."

"Why wouldn't I follow the case? I'm following it." He sat up, wanting to show he was participating, but was suddenly hit with his limits. He heard Lisbon say _Oh, Jesus_ as he went into a freefall that he quickly tried to prevent and he felt hands grabbing onto him to help.

"Yeah, okay, that's good," he said. "But why are you calling me Jesus?"


	6. Chapter 6

Lisbon managed to get Jane stretched out on the couch without hurting herself. The man was completely dead weight and dead to the world. It wasn't good and Lisbon was starting to get really concerned. It was actually a little heartbreaking. His Bakersfield comment told her how much he was suffering and to throw some pretty clear mommy issues on top of that was enough to crack anyone, even Patrick Jane.

She had learned over the course of their years together that with Jane, the unspoken said volumes. And the spoken, well, hell. His mention of _Bakersfield_ held so much weight.

Bakersfield meant the third murder. The same as the other two. Three of the same. Six lives lost. Three mothers. Three young… so young… daughters.

Bakersfield was the one he skipped.

Lisbon just couldn't imagine. That was the thing. She really couldn't imagine what Jane had to deal with. It made her protective of him, which made her vulnerable to him, and that wasn't good either.

But all of it was very creepy Red John, if Patricia really was working for the nutcase. To rub Jane's face in the brutal loss of his wife and child and then to add the original loss, the one Jane apparently couldn't even acknowledge: a mother who walked away with no explanation. Was that the whole point of all of this? Were the two really related?

Red John's bloodlust was for single women. Easy targets. He'd gone off pattern the first time to teach Jane a lesson. A mother and child killed without any planning. But, damn, Red John was killing so many people, she'd have to look up the files to see when the last single woman murder was. She didn't even think he could be classified as a serial killer anymore. No, he was more like a mass murderer now, and his obsession with Jane was not something to be taken for granted, which was, she suddenly realized, what they had all been doing for the last year or so.

She was beginning to think Jane was in danger himself. Lorelei Martins had escaped. Jane had refused Red John's friendship _again_. And now this. Three killings in three weeks. It was crazy even for Red John.

And how very Jane-like to predict that the next one would be south of Bakersfield. That made total sense. But it wasn't enough to _prevent_ the next one, not without causing wide-spread panic among mothers of young daughters in Southern California.

_One thing at time, Lisbon_, she told herself. Work the evidence, track the facts, don't get ahead of yourself.

She went to the office door and stuck her head out. "Van Pelt," she called out. She left the door open and went back to her desk.

Van Pelt appeared within moments. "Yeah boss?"

"Close the door," Lisbon said.

Van Pelt came in and closed the door behind her. She raised her eyebrows at the sight of Jane. "Is he okay?"

Lisbon grimaced. "That remains to be seen. But this—" She waved her hand towards him. "This is not good."

"What do you need?" Van Pelt asked.

"Tell me what you know so far," Lisbon said.

Patricia had allowed a mouth swab earlier, and the DNA kit was up at the lab. Lisbon thought keeping her in the bullpen as opposed to the interrogation room was a sign of good faith, and she still needed that good faith to keep her close long enough to figure out what the hell was really going on.

The team had already spent the better part of the day on this woman, and Lisbon needed to make a decision about the best use of her resources. She assigned Van Pelt to Patricia and Cho back to the Red John case. Rigsby was to follow up on records requests related to Patricia and the husband, while also supporting Cho.

"There's still not much more than what we've gleaned from public records. So far she's kind of an open book. I talked with a higher up at the WHO and she confirmed that Patricia's husband has spent the better part of his career in the jungle. Literally. And that Patricia has solved numerous missing children cases in Southeast Asia and Brazil, rescuing many young girls from sex trafficking, but also cracking high profile ransom cases of children of the wealthy. They've both won several humanitarian awards between them. Rigsby pulled her phone records and since she's been in the states, she's talked to her husband only a few times. But there's another number that has called her every day. Calls generally last about 15 or 20 minutes or shorter. It's a phone line at the California Medical Research Center in San Francisco."

"Any leads on who's calling?"

"I'm working on it."

"Is that it?"

Van Pelt paused. "I've been talking with her about her work with missing children. She's very committed to it. I just…"

"What?"

"I just can't see this woman working for Red John, considering what she has devoted her life to."

"Be that as it may," Lisbon said, "we need to be extra diligent."

"No, I know, boss," Van Pelt said, "I learned my lesson with Craig. People can find all sorts of reasons to do what they do. It's just the way she talks. And she said something to me that—I don't want to go into details—but I can see why Jane got so upset in the interrogation room. She knew some things no one on this planet could have known, some things I have never told anyone. Specific things."

Lisbon frowned. "What are you thinking?"

"Well, if she is not a psychic, she is scary good, but…"

Lisbon waited while Van Pelt chose her words carefully. "It's interesting to hear about her process. It's very similar to my cousin Yolanda, the way she sees things in her mind's eye and her need to help people. I mean, I know how Jane is always saying it's just tricks and observation skills, but I know what it was like growing up with Yolanda. She was like that as a kid. Nobody taught her any tricks. She had to figure out why she knew what she knew as she got older and it wasn't always pleasant. That's how Patricia described it. And interestingly enough, she doesn't call herself a psychic."

"What does she call it?"

"She just says she has the gift of insight or that she can see a bit of the world behind the world. Says if people label her one way or the other, it's not her business."

Lisbon shook her head. She could see that all going over well with Jane, along with everything else he would find to try and poke holes into the woman and her story. Personally, Lisbon didn't care what anyone called it. As long as Jane and this woman closed cases, Lisbon would pay them the respect they were due. "Okay, that's good to know. Just don't bring it up around Jane unless you have to. The fewer reasons to get him riled up the better."

"Okay."

"Anything else?" Lisbon asked.

"Well, if she's not his mother… again, scary good. There's not just the resemblance in the face. She has mannerisms."

"Yeah, I saw that. The way she looks at you? I have to say it was a little creepy in its Jane-ness."

"I know. And that thing with the finger rubbing the thumbnail. And the smile. If you ever see her give a really big genuine smile, you would have no doubt she is Jane's mother."

"Well, hopefully we'll get confirmation soon."

"I can see why she's been so successful in finding lost children," Van Pelt added. "Even if she is just a mentalist, she is very warm and personable. I mean, I like her. I would imagine people still like her after she has exposed them. I doubt she has ever been slapped or punched. She's very…calming. Kinda like a mother, you know?"

"Well, she certainly hasn't had a calming effect on Jane," Lisbon said, looking over at him sleeping on the couch. "And I'd like to know what that is about. There's something very weird going on here. Find out who's calling her. How far back on her have you gone?"

"That's been more difficult. Apparently she married Alex Jane when she was 16 and her maiden name on the marriage certificate is not popping anywhere. I've widened the search to the whole country. She was likely a runaway."

"16?" Lisbon asked. She couldn't imagine.

"Yeah." Van Pelt crinkled her nose. "Alex was 27."

"Ran away to the carnival? That doesn't exactly jibe with the woman sitting out in the bullpen."

"I know. But Jane doesn't exactly look like a guy who was raised by carnies either."

"True. Okay, keep digging. Start with those phone calls. That's got to be something."

"Okay, boss." Van Pelt turned and left, closing the door behind her.

Lisbon leaned back in her chair. It was almost 2:00 and she still hadn't had lunch. She watched Jane sleeping, his vested chest rising and falling, his face peaceful. And yet she had never been so concerned, no, scared. She worried that she had gotten too complacent, became too reliant on Jane's abilities.

A soft knock on the door drew her out of her doubts. "Yeah," she said without thinking, until the door opened and Patricia was stepping into her office. Lisbon stood up and quickly met Patricia at the door.

"Yeah, can I help you?" Lisbon asked, but it was too late, Patricia had already seen Jane on the couch. Lisbon directed Patricia back out into the bullpen and shut the door behind her.

"He's sleeping?" Patricia asked.

"Yes," Lisbon answered, as if that were the most normal thing Jane could be doing at the moment.

And then there it was: the full brunt of Patricia's searching gaze bore down on Lisbon again. Lisbon willed herself not to squint and then not to fill the silence that followed with excuses.

The silence stretched out beyond social norms which made Lisbon squint but still she kept silent.

"He's an insomniac," Patricia said. She seemed shocked by this.

Lisbon was instantly on guard. "No, he's just catching up on his sleep. He's had a rough couple weeks."

Patricia looked at her like she clearly didn't believe her.

"Understandably," Lisbon said and frowned.

Patricia lifted her chin at this, and Lisbon saw she had met her mark. Or seemed to have met her mark. Whatever. Lisbon was not going to let anyone, not even Jane's possible mother, get past her.

"Okay," Patricia said, nodding. She stepped back and seemed altogether lost. "I… I seem to be superfluous. And you are… protective. And…" she looked about as if searching for something just out of reach.

Suddenly Lisbon was reminded of the first time Jane showed up at CBI, all timid and fragile and apologetic.

"I…I don't want to get in the way of your investigations," Patricia said, on more determined ground now, "but I _can't_ leave. I won't. Not until Patrick knows what happened, knows how much I loved him, how…" Her eyes filled with tears and her voice wavered with emotion. "How broken I was after he was gone." She looked at Lisbon directly and said, "He was the center of my world. Giving birth, watching him grow, it opened my eyes and my heart. He was the best thing that ever happened to me up to that point."

"And yet you left him to be raised by carnies," Lisbon said, unable to pass some judgment on the fact that she had done pretty well for herself since leaving that life.

"I would have never left without extreme reason. I was also young and much more fearful than I am now. I realize, looking back, that, of course, I could have made different choices, but at the time, I didn't think I had any choices at all."

"Are you asking me for something here?" Lisbon asked. The whole situation was making her annoyed because it made her hold two completely opposing trains of thought at the same time. If Patricia's story was true, it was tragic, maybe not as tragic as Jane's past, but really sad even so. And yet she couldn't help holding the idea that the story was meant to manipulate her into feeling sorry for Patricia and letting her guard down.

"I…" Patricia was surprised by the question. "No. I just…" She stopped and looked frankly at Lisbon. "When I drove over here this morning, I didn't know what to expect, but I was not expecting to spend the day waiting around. I am completely unprepared. Agent Cho offered me his books, but I have already read them all. Obviously, no one wants me on your computers. So, yes, I guess I am asking for something."

"And that is?"

"Do you have any missing person cases you might need help with? Something not related to … anything."

Hunh. Lisbon really hadn't expected to hear that. It was very altruistic of her. Or was it meant to make it seem that she was altruistic. She couldn't get Jane's wheels within wheels suspicions out of her head. She decided to just cut to the chase. "How much do you know about Jane's situation?" she asked.

Patricia looked instantly queasy. "After I saw him on TV, I went online to find out more. I was up most of the night." She shook her head. "It's… I just can't imagine."

Lisbon frowned. She remembered Van Pelt's "scary good" comment and was again annoyed. "These latest murders are over the top and very much directed at Jane, and I have to say I'm not happy that we've had to spend the day researching you."

"I understand," Patricia said, "and I'm sorry. I was compelled to come here. I couldn't have stopped myself even if I wanted."

"I'll have Van Pelt see if she can dig out a couple files for you," Lisbon said.

"Thank you."

Lisbon started to head back to her office but stopped and turned to Patricia. "I have a question. Do you do hypnosis?"

"Hypnosis?" Patricia asked, obviously confused.

"Yeah. Or did you, you know, hypnotize people back when you were in the carnival world."

Patricia laughed. "No. What an odd question."

"It's not as odd as you would think," Lisbon said, turning for her office.


	7. Chapter 7

Jane woke to the quiet tapping sounds of Lisbon working on her computer. Night had fallen outside and the soft glow of her desk lamp made the office seem smoky, ethereal. Or was it just his foggy brain, the slow crawl to consciousness from such a deep sleep? Up from the depths came a small sliver of hope that he'd been having an extended, nightmarish dream, but that couldn't be because he had fallen asleep in Lisbon's office. He hadn't slept on Lisbon's couch since before Kristina Frye. That reality quickly slapped him back to the real world.

He blinked his eyes awake. "What day is it?"

The typing stopped. "It's still Tuesday. Welcome back."

Jane shifted his legs off the couch and pushed himself up to sit. He tried straightening his crumpled suit jacket but soon gave up and scrubbed his hand through his hair and yawned.

Lisbon came around her desk and sat next to him.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"It's just after 5:00. You realize that you passed out."

Jane frowned. He didn't really remember that. "I remember you told me to sit down and shut up."

"And for once you actually listened."

"Did you call me Jesus?"

Lisbon smiled and shook her head.

Jane rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand. "Any news?"

"Patricia gave up some DNA."

Jane turned to her, bringing her into focus. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"And she's still here?"

"Yes. She's actually trying to make herself useful."

"How?" Jane asked with obvious suspicion.

"She's reading missing person reports."

"That's awful nice of her," he said.

"Look," Lisbon said, "You are going to have to trust me here. You are in no condition to… handle this."

Jane scowled. "I can handle this."

"You flipped out because she was sitting on your couch!" Lisbon said.

Jane exhaled heavily. Yeah. That wasn't handled well.

"So are you not taking sleeping pills anymore?" Lisbon asked.

Jane shifted, uncomfortable with where he knew she was going. "I am. They're not working. I'm fine, Lisbon. This was helpful." He waved a hand at the couch.

"So you got …three hours of sleep in how many days exactly?" she asked.

Impatient, Jane stood and walked over to the desk. "So how long until the lab results are back?"

This time Lisbon exhaled deeply. "Jane, Patricia has already told me twice she's not going away. You're going to have to deal with her. And, frankly, the whole team is already convinced she's your mother. Bertram is too."

"Bertram?"

"Yeah, he came to see why we weren't progressing on Bakersfield and he met her. He said Patricia was like a charming and beautiful version of you."

Jane scoffed. "Bertram's an idiot. He could be charmed by a snake. And even if she is my mother, I _don't_ have to deal with her because I get to choose who is in my life."

He saw a flicker of sadness pass across her face and when she said, "And who exactly have you chosen to be in your life?" he knew why. He knew Lisbon worried about him, that she couldn't help her own mothering instincts, that deep down he reminded her of her father, a man who never recovered from his loss, a man who chose the course of slow self-destruction instead of finding happiness again. And he hated that he caused her pain of any sort, but it was easily mitigated by the fact that anyone who did get close to him suffered far worse pain than a passing sadness over his inability to heal and move on with his life. "I have everyone who needs to be there," he said. "I don't need to explain that to you."

"No, you don't," Lisbon said, standing up. "I do understand. I get it. The whole madman in the attic thing," she said waving her hand at the ceiling. "I get it. But I've been thinking this through, Jane, and I agree that we cannot trust Patricia's motives here just yet. The timing is _incredibly_ suspicious. But at the same time, say it is all coincidental. Say she only found you because her first month back in the States after 20 odd years away she happened to see you on TV. Say she has the best intentions in trying to reach out to you, that it's all on the up and up. And then say Red John found out that your mother was back in your life. What do you think he would do?" she asked, not as a question but as a fact.

Jane stared at her unable to formulate an answer. His mind reeled at the implications of this woman's presence, that even her claim to be his mother could get her killed. But then he was yanked back by the opposing thought that if she _wasn't_ killed by Red John, then at least they would know she must be working for him.

"It's impossible," Lisbon said. "I've gone round and round and the only thing I can figure out to do at this point is put her in protective custody."

"You've got to be kidding me," Jane started.

"I think she would do it willingly, considering what she has told me."

"If she's working for Red John, if she's as good as I think she is at manipulating people, she could cause havoc for the CBI," Jane sputtered. "She's already got Bertram wrapped around her finger!"

"Well, she's got Van Pelt and Cho too. But the fact is that in protective custody we'd have complete control over her. And we'd know if she's in communication with Red John, or someone else. Van Pelt says she's gotten daily calls from someone at a medical research facility in San Francisco. We're still working on figuring out who that is."

He saw the truth in what she said. "And you've already decided, haven't you?"

"Yes." She went to her desk and sat down. "I'm just figuring how to present it to her."

He shook his head. "I need a cup a tea." He turned for the door and when he grabbed the doorknob, he looked over his shoulder at her. "Cho?" he asked. "Really?"

"They read the same books," Lisbon said and shrugged, her hands already tapping on the keyboard.

"And not Rigsby?"

"Rigsby's been in Bakersfield all afternoon conducting interviews."

Jane stepped into the bullpen shaking his head. There were times, not often, when he longed for a far less gullible world. He cautiously looked over to the couch and saw it empty. Van Pelt and Cho were at their desks staring deeply into their computer screens. He scanned the room and did not see Patricia and then he noticed the victim boards were gone. He went over to Cho.

"Hey," Cho said, his eyes barely flickering off the screen.

"Cho," Jane said, scanning the room more closely. "Where are the victim boards?"

"Lisbon had everything taken to interrogation room #1 before she brought Patricia up here. We're running the investigation out of there and locking up our computers when we're not here."

A surge of pride for Lisbon washed over Jane. "Well, I'm glad at least one person on the team hasn't been charmed out their wits," he said.

"Anyone who knows and loves Tolstoy the way she does cannot be all bad," is all Cho gave up.

"Ah, Cho, I thought you were more a Jane Austen fan," Jane said. "Where is this literary effete anyway?" he asked.

"Dude," Cho said taking his eyes off his screen and staring directly at Jane, "you need to back off."

Jane raised his hands up in mock surrender. He turned and made his way to the kitchen for his tea. And that's where he found her, camped out at one of the tables with case files spread out before her. Her back was to him and he stopped in the doorway. He considered retreating. Going out for tea seemed far more pleasant than having another encounter where his systems could go ballistic with no notice whatsoever. Then she noticed him standing there and he was committed to following through with his original plan.

"Oh," she said, as he made a beeline for the stove and kettle. "Hi."

He simply raised his eyebrows without looking at her and turned to fill the kettle under the tap.

"I'm really sorry about the couch," she said to his back. "I didn't know."

He went to set the kettle on the stove and turn the burner on. Then he went to find his tea cup. It wasn't in the drain board where he had last left it, so he searched the cupboards but it was gone. He turned to scan the counters and tables and instantly saw his blue tea cup sitting right in front of her, a spent tea bag hanging out on the saucer below it.

He closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath in. He was not going to flip out. He let the breath release as slowly as he had taken it in. He was not going to flip out.

"Are you all right, Patrick?" she asked.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Don't call me that."

"What?" she asked.

"Don't call me that. Nobody calls me that here."

"Oh."

"That's my teacup. Nobody but me uses that teacup." His chest was tightening, his breath was getting shallow. He was not going to flip out.

Patricia looked down at the teacup and then back up at him. "Oh. I'm sorry…I."

"Yeah, you didn't know," Jane said and grabbed a coffee mug out of the cupboard. He squinted at the message: _Only 4 days till Friday_.

"No, I didn't," she said and he heard an edge in her voice that was not apologetic at all.

He found the teabags and began tearing one open.

"Patrick," she said, and he turned and frowned at her. "I'm sorry, I am not going to call you Jane. I just can't do that. I just… I just want to talk with you…I want…"

"I'm sorry," Patrick shot back, "but what you want doesn't matter to me in the least." His heart was thrumming now and he couldn't stop it. "You can't just show up here and insert yourself into my life and expect me to do whatever the hell you want me to. Even if you are my mother—and apparently everyone here and their _boss_ thinks you are—I don't really care if you are or not." As he was talking, as he saw the effect his words were having on Patricia, Jane was aware that the force behind the words was coming from a place of origin he had no knowledge of. They spewed out with an anger he never knew he had. To his knowledge he had never felt anything but disdain for his mother.

Patricia opened her mouth to say something but stopped. She studied him instead. He knew she was reading him but he couldn't stop his systems from firing against his will. The kettle's shrill whistle broke the silence and he turned away to drag the kettle off the burner.

He heard her quietly say, "You really don't remember me, do you?" And she said it like Lisbon earlier, not as a question but as a fact. He put the teabag in the coffee mug and poured the hot water over it. His chest constricted and for just an instant he couldn't breathe. He swallowed and closed his eyes, focusing on loosening his chest, releasing the tension that held his body in its grip. He slowly filled his lungs with air and then released it quietly.

"You realize how odd that is," she said in the same quiet voice. "It is very disturbing to me that you can't remember, and not because of me. I expected your anger and bitterness. I deserve it. We had been very close, Patrick, and I know how I felt at the loss of you. I can only imagine how much worse it was for you, being so young and not having any understanding or comfort. I'm sure your father's anger at me kept him from comforting you.'

Jane squeezed his eyes tight. "I don't believe you. You're acting like I already believe you're my mother. I don't."

"It's disturbing to me," she continued, "because of what it says about you. It suggests that something … something happened to cause you to lose your memory. And it makes me very concerned for you."

"I don't want your concern," Jane said with a scorn that rose quickly up at her last statement. "I don't want you here," he said, turning and looking at her. "If you are my mother, if the lab comes back saying that, I still don't want you here. I never yearned for my mother or her concern, and I've got enough going on right now. I don't want or need this. So if you are _truly_ concerned about _me_, if you want to _prove_ that concern to me, you'll tell Lisbon that the best thing you could do right now is leave."

"Jane?" Lisbon walked briskly into the kitchen. Jane looked at her and quickly looked away as she assessed the situation. "Is everything okay here?" she asked.

Jane looked at Patricia who smiled at Lisbon and said, "Yes. Everything's okay."

Lisbon said, "Jane? I'm sorry to tell you this here," she said flicking her hand quickly, "but we don't have much time."

Jane heard the urgency in her voice. "What happened?"

"There's been another Red John murder."

"What? No. That's not…" he couldn't comprehend.

"In Santa Clarita. A woman and child. I'm sorry. I'm sorry to tell you like this, but you know how crazy this is."

"It's only _Tuesday_. That's _insane_," he said.

"Jane, it's different this time. It's not a mother and child."

"What do you mean?"

"I want you to sit down first," Lisbon said steadily.

Dread swept over him, dread wrapped around him like a black cloak that wanted to strangle him. Lisbon came over to him. "Just tell me," he said.

"They've IDed the body of the woman," Lisbon said. "It's Lorelei Martins. A county sheriff recognized her from the APB we had out on her."

Jane closed his eyes. God, no.

"Jane?" Lisbon said, taking his arm. He opened his eyes and looked at her. She guided him over to Patricia's table, directing him to sit. He saw the case files on the table. "Jane, Jane, look at me," Lisbon said, turning his face back to her. "You have to listen to me, Jane. You know how crazy this is, the escalation, the message. Jane!" Lisbon took his face and held it so he had to look at her. "Jane, you have to listen to me. You have to trust me. I'm putting both you and Patricia in protective custody."


	8. Chapter 8

"What?" Patricia said.

"You're both going into protective custody," Lisbon said, letting go of Jane. While she was concerned about how he would take the news, both of Lorelei's murder and being forced into hiding, Lisbon was careful to watch Patricia's reaction. And it was difficult to gauge. Patricia was watching Jane with concern, yes, but also with something like … interest. And closely. And Jane kept looking down at the table of files.

"Jane?" Lisbon asked. "Did you hear me?"

Patricia pulled her gaze away from Jane and looked up at Lisbon. "I'm sorry, I can understand why you would want to put Patrick in protective custody, but why me?"

"This is personal for Red John. He would kill you if he even suspected you were Jane's mother."

"The other three were just leading up to this one," Jane said quietly and to no one in particular. "He's furious with me."

"But why now?" Lisbon asked. "You've turned his friendship down before."

"Friendship?" Patricia asked.

"Jane?" Lisbon could see him crawling into himself, reeling at the implications—his wife, Kristina, now Lorelei—and she wanted to keep him focused. While she didn't want to say too much in front of Patricia, time was of the essence. Ever since she had sat him down, he had kept his head turned away from her, towards the table of case files. She had thought it shame at first, the guilt he undoubtedly felt keeping him from making any eye contact, but now it seemed something else.

"What is it, Patrick?" Patricia asked him, watching him closely again.

Jane didn't seem to hear the questions or he was ignoring them.

"It's the child," Patricia said softly.

"What?" Lisbon asked.

"Where did the child come from if this Lorelei wasn't her mother?"

"She's a 5-year-old from Bakersfield who went missing last Monday," Lisbon said, grimly. "Same Sheriff recognized her from the Amber Alert."

"Michaela Jackson?" Patricia asked.

"Yes," Lisbon said, surprised and then immediately suspicious. "How did you know?"

Patricia reached over to one of the files Jane had been staring at and flipped it open. A young white girl with long blonde hair smiled up at them.

The gesture snapped Jane to attention. He stood up abruptly, the chair skittering back. "How did you know that?" he demanded of Patricia.

Lisbon couldn't blame Jane, she was about to go ape shit herself.

"How did I know?" Patricia asked, looking thoroughly confused. "You were looking at the file. I just assumed-"

"I wasn't looking at anything," Jane said. "I was _thinking_!"

"I don't understand, I thought—" Patricia stammered, looking back and forth between Jane and Lisbon. "I don't understand why _you_ didn't know that," she said, landing on Jane.

"Why would I know anything about the girl?" he demanded.

"Why wouldn't you?" Patricia asked, as if flabbergasted.

"Okay, we don't have time for this," Lisbon interrupted. They could sort out what just happened later. "Patricia, we have no idea how long you will have to be in protective custody. What sort of housekeeping do you need to do for an extended time away?"

Still confused, Patricia said, "I don't understand any of this!"

"We will have plenty of time to fill you in later. Right now we need to focus on packing up for Santa Clarita. What sort of housekeeping do you need to do? Is there anyone besides your husband you want to contact? Bills to pay, items you can't live without?"

"I… I don't know. I… I'd have to think," Patricia said. "I have only my purse with me…"

Jane was staring at Patricia hard, watching her, reading her in a very aggressive way, and Patricia was becoming more and more uncomfortable. Lisbon stepped in front of him to face Patricia. "Van Pelt will drive you back to San Francisco for you to collect some belongings. Jane," Lisbon said turning to him. "Jane, you need to get your things together too, from the attic or have Cho take you to your motel room, whatever. We need to get going."

"I need to talk to you," Jane said.

"Can it wait?"

"No."

Lisbon turned back to Patricia. "Van Pelt will be back soon. Wait here for her." She followed Jane to her office, expecting him to start in about Patricia, but he closed the door quietly and then just looked at her.

"I need to tell you something," he said and Lisbon knew that look and that tone so well she went to her desk and sat down. He closed the door.

She waited for him to drop the bomb. And she knew it was a big one because he was hesitating longer than usual.

"Spit it out, Jane," she said, bracing for the worst, hoping for not so bad. He stayed at the door, which meant it could be anything from very bad to the very worst.

"I didn't tell you everything about Lorelei," he said.

Oh, god. She frowned, hoping he wasn't going into territory she _really_ didn't want to hear about.

"I caused all of this to happen," he said, shaking his head and looking at the ground. "I thought I was being clever, but … I went too far. And I don't think he's going to stop. I don't think he'll ever believe I've been punished enough."

"What does that have to do with Lorelei?"

"I turned her against him. I told her to ask him if he killed her sister. I knew I would never convince her myself, so I told her to go back and ask him herself." He was looking at her now with equal parts of dread and guardedness, like he knew she was going to be very angry.

"I don't get it," she said. "Spell it out now, Jane, we have work to do."

"I didn't get left behind by Lorelei, I helped her go," he said as if he hoped she was smart enough to understand what he meant.

She wasn't. "I swear to God, Jane, if you don't spit it out—"

"Okay. Okay, I wasn't kidnapped by Lorelei, I broke her out of prison," he said, suddenly talking faster and walking towards her.

And there it was, the explosion he had all but promised the minute he closed the door and looked at her with hooded eyes, the searing white hot flash of truth that blew apart everything she had believed about the whole kidnapping, the accident, his injuries. She had read accounts of soldiers stepping on landmines, being shelled with rockets, the way they described how everything slowed down and they could inexplicably give the minutest details of what happened within a 30- or 60-second moment of complete destruction. She saw Jane walking towards her, talking fast but oddly softly, and it occurred to her that most people in his situation would walk or run away from the person they had just dropped a bomb on, and she thought how this was how he did it. This was how he kept her under control. He'd do whatever the hell he wanted, legal or otherwise, then when he would finally tell her the truth, he would do the opposite of what most normal people would do, to catch her off guard, misdirect her to some other problem or what-the-hell-ever. In that instance she experienced a metaphoric out of body moment. She rose from her chair, she rose above the situation. Jane was still talking, still trying to explain away his felonious behavior and she was not listening. She brushed past him, yanked the door open and then slammed it shut. She would not have been surprised if the glass shattered.

"Cho!" she barked.

Cho was shutting his computer down, closing up shop at his desk as she stormed past him. "Yeah, boss."

"You are in charge of Jane. Do _not_ let him out of your sight!"

She saw Patricia at the door of the kitchen looking out at her, confused and concerned, and Lisbon thought, _You_ _know what, if that woman wants to mother Patrick Jane, she can sure as hell try because I am so freaking done with him_.


	9. Chapter 9

_Author Note: Sorry for the delay... had to move across town and then work right up to the holidays. Thanks to everyone for their kind and enthusiastic feedback... hope this chapter explains some things. And thank you jw/Judy for your very close and thoughtful readings. They are appreciated and inspiring._

* * *

Jane sat on the couch and considered Lisbon's reaction. He had expected pretty much everything except complete avoidance from her, and he now wondered if he had not thought things through enough. He was still tired and Patricia kept him on edge. Of what, he couldn't identify, and, frankly, he was tired of thinking. He wanted a break. He wanted to be mindless, to not think of Red John or Lorelei or Patricia or all the women and children, to not think about how he caused such violence or how he might prevent it, to not be constantly reminded of Angela and Charlotte. Prison was mindless. Prison was simple. Jane actually liked prison.

Now he realized he should have gone straight to Bertram. Bertram would have had him in cuffs and an orange jumpsuit before the nightly news started and it suddenly occurred to him that Lisbon was probably in Bertram's office right now playing her own hand. So instead of being tucked away in some Federal prison Jane knew it was all but certain he'd be stuck in some suburban ranch house with the evidence of Red John's re-creation of the worst day of Jane's life in his face for who knew how long. He considered giving Cho the slip somewhere between here and the safe house, but he knew he was in no condition to make a clever get away. He'd have to bide his time. Go along with Lisbon's plan until he was in better shape to decide on a better one.

Cho opened the office door and stuck his head in. "We're heading out in twenty."

On the drive down to Santa Clarita, Jane feigned sleep. Not that Cho was looking for conversation, but Jane was making some decisions. First, he was going to stop thinking. He was going to empty his mind and keep it empty of anything related to the latest murders. Second, he was not ever going to see anything related to Lorelei's crime scene. Ever. Third, the only thing he would allow himself to think about was finding a way to make Red John stop, even if it meant giving up. And maybe he'd take up reading mindless spy thrillers or westerns to fill out his days, because he was pretty sure by now that Lisbon had fixed it so prison was no longer an option. And lastly, he was not going to let Patricia Steiner get to him ever again. He didn't know what her game was and he decided that he didn't want to know. He would disengage and walk away whenever she started doing whatever it was she did that made him so crazy. This decision led him to ponder what she had said in the kitchen, which quickly led to him deciding he would empty his mind of her too.

And so when they arrived at the beige split level house in a subdivision full of beige split level houses, Jane was exhausted from all the thinking about not thinking. The streets were deserted; the houses all dark save for the occasional front door security light. They were the first of the team to arrive and Jane followed Cho inside. The house split at the front entrance with stairs on the left going down and stairs on the right going up. Jane went up to claim his bedroom. When he found the master, he went in, closed the door, took his shoes off and stretched out on the bed. If they were going to hold him captive under such circumstances, he would simply hole up with the ensuite bathroom and a stack of library books. He closed his eyes and hoped for sleep.

He was awakened by the sound of heavy footsteps and low voices and doors opening and closing. Voices in the kitchen were audible but indecipherable. He had no idea how long he had slept and he didn't care. Their business out there was not his business. The noises lasted for some time. More footsteps arrived and moved down to the lower level. When the activity started to die down, the door to his bedroom opened and a bright stream of light came through. A switch flipped and the overhead light came on. The door closed and footsteps came towards him. He feigned sleep. He was pretty sure it was Lisbon.

A backhanded slap to his upper arm and her saying, "Wake up, Jane. We need to talk," confirmed it.

He squinted one eye open. Lisbon stood with her hands on her hips and her lips pressed together in a frown.

"Wake up," she said.

He opened both his eyes and looked at her.

"I forgave you Las Vegas," she said. "That was a real betrayal, Jane, and I forgave you because in the end I know you did it to try and stop Red John. You lie to me and go behind my back and commit all kinds of crimes, but I get that you are doing it for a higher good. I let it go. I look the other way and accept your explanations of deniability and greater good, but I will be damned if I'm going to aid and abet you in your own self destruction. Breaking Lorelei out of prison was a felony in the eyes of the law. You may think prison is just a state of mind, that cleverness and blueberry muffins are enough to open barred doors, but I can tell you for a fact that they will not get you out of a federal penitentiary."

"Who says I would want to get out?" Jane asked. He was a little surprised that she had guessed his plan so completely. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. "Where's the fun for Red John if I'm in a federal prison with no hope of getting out?"

"You were trying to use me!" Lisbon growled in anger. "In comparison to Vegas, that is a breach of our partnership."

"I'm not doing anything different," Jane countered. "I'm just trying to stop Red John."

"And like I said, I'm not going to aid and abet you on this. I'm calling it. You are in no shape to make that kind of decision. It's a bad plan and it's just not going to happen on my watch."

"I have to say I'm surprised you guessed it so quickly," Jane said.

Lisbon shook her head. "Do you even hear how insulting that is?"

"No, really, how did you know?" he asked.

"Please," Lisbon said. "You come into my office after hearing you're going into protective custody with Patricia and proceed to tell me something I already know."

"Ah," Jane said. "So you suspect your office is bugged too. The question is whether it's Bertram or Kirkland," he said. He watched her face go purposely blank and said, "You hope it's not your new best friend Kirkland. Talk about betrayal."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "It doesn't matter at this point. We're off the grid in suburban Santa Clarita and staying off indefinitely. I'm not as stupid as you think, Jane," she said.

Jane frowned. "I've never thought that. And what do you mean we're off the grid?"

"Get some sleep, Jane." She turned to leave.

"Wait, what do you mean…"

Lisbon flipped the light switch off before closing the door behind her and leaving Jane in the dark with the dawning realization that for the first time ever she was a step or two ahead of him.

He stretched out on the bed again and wondered which grid they were off of—the CBI's? Everything but the CBI's? He considered Lisbon's position and wondered if she trusted Bertram enough to keep him in the loop, or if they were, in fact, really off the map. As it was, he'd have to wait until morning to find out, wait for Lisbon to get over being mad at him. He spent the rest of the night tossing and turning. Whenever his thoughts veered close to the murders, to Lorelei and the little girl, Michaela, in particular, he made his mind go blank. He couldn't go there. He did all sorts of mental acrobats to avoid that which was so omnipresent: a dread unlike anything he had ever experienced before. What did seep through was a belief that he really belonged in prison. He had a body count that made him queasy. How was he any different from a serial killer? The logic followed.

Just after 4am, he gave up on sleep and went out to see if there was any tea in the cupboards. The master bedroom was at the end of a dark hallway that led out to the large living room. A family-sized dining table separated the living room from the open kitchen, and it was here Jane found Lisbon hunched over a stack of files in the soft glow of the overhead lamp. She heard him coming and looked up and blinked at him when he came into the light.

He tried to smile at her but knew it didn't quite come off properly. He went to the kitchen and saw someone had brought groceries. He poked around until he found the box of tea, Earl Grey. Rigsby. He got the kettle going, feeling Lisbon watching him the whole time. He readied his tea. He hadn't thought ahead to this. Lisbon alone, the house dark and quiet, no buzz of activity to keep her preoccupied. He leaned against the counter and considered his options until the kettle whistled its readiness. He decided he was too tired to be anything but honest with her, though he also knew she was angry enough to accept nothing less.

When he turned to leave the kitchen, teacup in hand, he saw her focused once again on the files. He saw she had decided to let him leave without a word if he wanted. She sat at the head of the table and he went and set the cup down to the left of her before sliding into the seat. There was actually no one else he'd rather be with at 4am after the day he'd just had, and it troubled him that she felt so betrayed by something that couldn't be helped. There was nothing he could say or do to change what was, so he simply drank his tea while Lisbon continued reading the file in front of her.

He waited. Lisbon was always the one who wanted to talk, and he waited to hear what she wanted to talk about. He was almost down to the dregs of his tea before he realized she was going to stay stubbornly silent. Under normal circumstances he would have found this amusing, but instead he found himself suddenly annoyed and scared at the same time. The cloak of dread slipped off his shoulders and pooled at his feet, threatening to open up into a cavernous abyss beneath him. He hung in the balance. He floundered. If he didn't have Lisbon on his side, who did he have?

"I'm sorry," he said.

Lisbon raised her eyebrows and looked at him finally. "Sorry for what?"

"I—" He looked into her green eyes and found himself unable to articulate his thoughts. He was sorry for a lot of things, not all of them related to her, but in the moment he couldn't separate anything out.

She rolled her eyes and went back to reading the file.

"I can't sleep," he finally said. "I can't—I think you're right that I'm—not…"

She was looking at him again and he saw her opening up to his vulnerability.

"No, you're not," she said softly. "And it's not going to get any easier, Jane. Not anytime soon from what I can tell. So you're going to have to trust me and not do anything stupid."

He nodded. She was back.

"You have to promise me, Jane. Don't go running off. Just stay put here until you get your equilibrium back," she said.

He nodded.

"I mean it," she insisted.

"I know," he said.

"Okay," she said.

"You know I don't think you're stupid," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she said and picked up the file to start reading.

"No, come on, why would you even say that?" he asked.

"I know you don't think that, Jane, but some of the choices you make assume otherwise."

He frowned, trying to think of the circumstances that might lead her to come to such a conclusion.

"You need to get some sleep, Jane. You need to be able to face what is coming."

He looked at her and saw that she knew something he didn't. "I don't want to face it," he said, his throat closing up as he said it.

She reached out and put her hand on his. "I know."

"I think she's my mother," he said.

Lisbon squeezed his hand.

"What if she's really working for Red John, Lisbon? What if it's all a part of—"

"Jane," Lisbon said, "We're going to figure everything out. We always do."

Jane shook his head and pulled his hand away. He squeezed his eyes tight, fatigue overtaking him. "But I'm not helping," he said. "You need my help."

"No," Lisbon said. "This time you need my help. The question is whether you will accept it."

He opened his eyes to her looking at him matter-of-factly. "You know something," he said. He could see it even through the fog of his current state. He saw a slight hitch at the corner of her mouth that unleashed a warm flush of dread through his veins.

"The DNA test came back," she said. "It's a match."


	10. Chapter 10

_AN: I've changed the rating on this to T as it is turning out differently than I thought. In the future, I'll mark any M chapters at the top. :)_

* * *

Lisbon watched Jane take the news in. He frowned in a way that held more pain than displeasure and she worried that the reasons he had no memory of his mother were greater than he could handle at this moment in time. She didn't want to prod him. She frankly didn't know what to do.

He shook his head, like he didn't know what to do either.

"Jane, why do you think you don't remember her?" she asked. She figured he'd been stewing on that question for some time now.

He stood up like he had a sudden attack of the creepy crawlies. He was a mess, his suit jacket rumpled, his shirt tail hanging out, his eyes bloodshot. He began moving around the dining area, his hands jammed in the suit pockets. "I don't know," he said. "It's like she's been completely erased from my memories. I don't understand it. There are memories she should be in but she's not."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I have these memories of things that happened and she should be there, I mean, I'm sure she was there, but she's not. I don't understand it and I don't like it and I don't want to think about it anymore." He stopped and looked at Lisbon. "I really don't."

"Okay," Lisbon said.

"And that thing she did back there, that thing with the case file," he said getting jittery again. "That was nothing but a card trick. I don't know how she did it but I could figure it out if I wanted to. But I don't."

"Okay."

"I don't. I don't care what the lab results say, I haven't had a mother in 35 years and I am betting that there is a very good reason why I don't remember her or recognize her." He shrugged. "I don't need to know why."

"Okay."

He frowned. "You're agreeing too much. You know something else."

Lisbon shook her head. "Not really," she said, though she knew more about his childhood and Patricia now after Van Pelt's report of the long car ride to San Francisco and then down to Santa Clarita.

"I know she makes you incredibly nervous, though, and that makes me nervous. It's bad enough what Red John is doing, but everything about this situation is off—you, your memories, your reactions to her. It's concerning." Actually, Lisbon thought it suggested something more disturbing, though she also agreed with Jane that it was probably better to just let this sleeping dog lie. "And I have to say I'm a little concerned at your lack of reaction about Lorelei."

Jane was moving again, looking at the artwork on the wall, the decorative pieces on the sidebar. "You can almost smell the warehouse these came from," he said.

Lisbon waited. Jane moved over to the wall of windows blackened in the predawn and reflecting the two of them.

"I'm not thinking about Lorelei," he said.

"Okay," she said.

"Stop it with the 'okays'," he said.

"But I mean them," she said.

"No you don't. You don't believe any of this is _okay_."

"No, I don't, but I do trust you are doing what you need to do. If that means not thinking about something that happened or is happening, well…" She shrugged.

He went and sat down heavily at the end of the table opposite her.

A pang of empathy shot through her. "Your tea is getting cold," she said softly. When he didn't react, she stood up and brought the tea cup over to him. If there was ever a moment Jane needed a hug, it was now, but Lisbon knew him well enough to just rub her hand over his shoulder in consolation. She went back to reading her file while Jane finished off the last of his tea.

The file in Lisbon's hands held the statements of neighbors, family and friends of the Bakersfield victims. Rigsby had completed them just a few hours before. Lisbon was trying to discover any connections to Lodi or Stockton. She'd chosen a rental house in Santa Clarita for no other reason than its proximity to Bakersfield and Los Angles. Because, like Jane, she did believe that was where everything was headed.

Jane got up and took his teacup to the kitchen, then wandered around the dining area and living room before finally claiming the couch. Downstairs the team was taking shifts: work, sleep, surveillance. Not even Bertram knew for sure where they were. Lisbon had convinced him of the need for going underground, though with two Red John murders in two days and one of the victims being Lorelei Martins, Bertram didn't need much convincing. If Bertram was, in fact, behind the bug she had found in her office two days earlier, he had given no indication. She had swept the office each morning when she arrived since, but even if a new bug had been planted, Lisbon had convinced him that Jane, more than even Patricia, needed protection—mostly from himself. Kirkland and Homeland Security was another matter and Bertram agreed that they needed to keep the loop closed.

Lisbon heard the soft sound of a door closing behind her and she turned to see a light shining out from under the hallway bathroom. Patricia. Lisbon sighed and flapped the file closed. Patricia was complicating the hell out of things. From what Van Pelt had reported, there was less reason to suspect her of being a Red John accomplice. She had no apparent guile, and more than that, Van Pelt's radar was sensitive to say the least after Craig, and she reported that after seven hours in the car with the woman she was 90% certain Patricia was who she said she was and there only to reconnect with her son. In Van Pelt's world, nobody got better than 90% certainty anymore. And yet Lisbon was 100% certain that Jane would find the opposite of solace in hearing what Van Pelt had to say about his mother.

According to Van Pelt, Patricia had spent the drive to San Francisco asking about Jane, and the quality of the questions suggested someone who had no prior knowledge of his circumstances. Was he always an insomniac? Why did he have his things at a motel room? Was he in a relationship? Who was this Lorelei? What was his life like outside of his work? Van Pelt had deflected and told her she wasn't comfortable sharing that sort of information, that Patricia should ask Jane about it. Patricia had understood, apologized, and had gone on to talk about the boy she had known, the life they had lived together. And what little Van Pelt had conveyed to Lisbon was fascinating. Apparently Jane had started working with his mother at age four: Madame Simone and her Boy Wonder. Apparently by the time he was three, his gifts were quite apparent, and Alex had pushed to get the act together.

The only blip Van Pelt got was at Patricia's apartment in the Mission District. The phone rang exactly four rings and Patricia made no attempt to answer it. Van Pelt already knew Patricia didn't have a cell phone and so couldn't access her voice mail remotely, so she pointed out that Patricia might not hear her voice mail for some time, and Patricia had said that it was okay, that it was just an old acquaintance who was pestering her to get together now that she was back in the States. Van Pelt was certain she was lying and had requested a list of all the employees, staff and visitors of the medical research facility on the days the calls were made to Patricia's number.

In the five hour drive to Santa Clarita, Patricia and Van Pelt shared stories of the cases they'd worked. Patricia talked of how she got started in finding children in Bornea and how everything evolved from that for her. She was particularly interested in Van Pelt's stories and how Jane worked to solve the cases. She asked a lot of questions about his methods and seemed surprised at many of the answers, as if they were not anything close to what she expected. A few times she seemed disturbed and, as Van Pelt said, "She sort of checked out of the conversation for a while." But she always came back, curious and thoughtful, asking questions that were neutral enough for Van Pelt to answer.

Lisbon went to the kitchen to make a new pot of coffee, taking the case files with her. She saw Patricia emerge from the bathroom and start towards the kitchen, but when Patricia noticed Jane on the couch, she faltered. She stopped and looked at him sleeping a good long time before turning thoughtfully towards the kitchen.

"Good morning," Lisbon said, leaning against the counter next to the gurgling coffee maker.

Patricia stopped at the large granite topped island and rested her hands against it. "Good morning."

"Coffee will be ready in a minute."

"Oh, no thank you. I drink tea."

"Right. Of course."

Patricia looked deep in thought.

"You okay?" Lisbon asked.

Patricia shook her head and looked at Lisbon. "Yes. It's just… this is all so strange. And it's all happened so fast. But that's how it always happens."

"How what happens?" Lisbon asked.

Patricia went thoughtful again. "There are times in everyone's life when their world gets completely up-ended. You never see it coming. You're just suddenly in the middle of great chaos; sometimes it's sorrowful, sometimes joyful, but it always changes you. I've been through it enough to know that what is most important in times like these is how you decide to put your world back together against forces that seem to want to tear you apart."

Lisbon was speechless.

Patricia smiled sadly at her. "I've been getting an inkling of how Patrick put his life back together."

"Oh," Lisbon said, still unsure what to say.

"Has he always had trouble sleeping?" Patricia asked.

Lisbon frowned. It was the third time Patricia has inquired about his sleep and Lisbon could not see why that, more than anything else, was of any importance. She also didn't see the harm in answering. "For as long as I've known him, yes."

"And how long has that been?"

"Ten years. I take it he didn't have a problem when he was younger."

Patricia smiled slightly. "No, Patrick always slept the sleep of the dead. Even as a little baby. I used to wake him up just to make sure he was all right. The other mothers used to scold me—don't wake a sleeping baby and all." She smiled again.

"You were very young," Lisbon said, wanting to hear more.

"I was. I didn't know anything. The nurses showed me how to hold him, nurse him, change his diapers. Then they released me from the hospital with him and Alex drove all night so we could catch up with the carnival in New Mexico. I didn't trust anyone or anything back then. I never let Patrick out of my sight. I just took care of him with pure instinct. I treated him the way I would have wanted to be treated." She laughed. "He slept with us until he was three. And, oh, the battles Alex and I had over _that_."

Lisbon smiled. "You married him at sixteen. Were you pregnant?"

Patricia was surprised. "Yes. I was."

"Did you love your husband?"

Patricia hesitated. "I didn't know what love was when I married Alex," she finally said. "I learned about love from Patrick. He opened my heart."

Lisbon had never known anyone to speak so openly about such matters with near strangers. She saw why Van Pelt liked Patricia and a part of her wanted to hear everything about Jane's early life. She almost wished that it had been her in the car ride down to Santa Clarita, but then she saw Jane stirring on the couch, reminding her that she still needed to be cautious. Jane's natural ability to manipulate any situation did not come out of a vacuum after all. The question remained whether he got that particular talent from his mother or his father, or both.

Patricia followed Lisbon's gaze. They watched as Jane sat up in a stupor. As peaceful as the current moment was, Lisbon saw how easily it could fall apart. Given Jane's condition and everything they didn't know about Patricia, Lisbon saw that she needed to take control of the situation and keep it before either one of them had of a chance to provoke the other. She decided that, despite the risk involved, she needed more verifiable information about Patricia.

She pushed off the counter and headed for Jane. As she passed Patricia, she said, "Follow me."

Jane was frowning at her as they came toward him. "Jane," Lisbon said. "I want you to sit down at the table with us and listen to what Patricia has to say."

Jane scoffed. "Why should I do that?"

"She's your mother and she deserves the chance to tell you what happened." Lisbon turned to Patricia, who was obviously surprised by her pronouncement. "The DNA test confirmed it," she said by way of explanation.

"Um, I'm sorry, but what has she done to deserve—"

Turning back to Jane, Lisbon cut him off, "You need to do this, Jane. Judge her any way you want to, but at least judge her on the facts."

Jane closed his mouth and looked at her closely. She raised her eyebrows at him and saw that he immediately caught her drift: they needed to know the facts before they could verify them. He sighed heavily and closed his eyes.

Lisbon turned to Patricia. "Have a seat, Patricia," she said as she went to take her own. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jane push himself up slowly from the couch.


	11. Chapter 11

Jane sat reluctantly at the table. Patricia had taken the seat he had occupied earlier and his annoyance with that was quickly joined with the familiar anxiety the woman seemed to effortlessly conjure in him. He now knew for sure she was really his mother, but he had spent the time between knowing this confirmed fact and sitting across from her completely avoiding any thoughts of what that might mean. Mostly because he didn't want it to mean anything. Losing his mother young had had no apparent effect on him, at least not like it had for Lisbon, whose whole world had changed, and not for the better. He had simply continued living his life with his father minus his mother. And now 35 years later here she was wanting to explain away her departure, as if he was the one who needed something, as if this whole situation wasn't about her need to assuage her… guilt? Regret? Jane didn't care. He'd made his peace with being motherless long ago, so long ago it didn't even matter anymore.

She was reading him and that raised his annoyance and anxiety levels even more. From what little he had seen of her, he sensed that she was very good, maybe even better than Erica Flynn, because he had yet to get any kind of reading on her. All he ever got from her was a jumble of his own emotions and irrational reactions, which raised his annoyance and anxiety levels even more. He made his face go blank and cast his eyes down, not allowing her any eye contact.

Lisbon spoke first. "Patricia, you said you wanted to be the one to tell Jane, Patrick, you're story. This is the time to do it. "And, Jane," she said, turning to him, "I want you to listen all the way until the end.

He knew what she meant, he hadn't handled anything with this woman well up to this point, had always cut her short, but he also couldn't predict what would happen this time, so he made no answer. The fact that he couldn't predict his ability to control his emotions was disturbing to him and a niggling thought that he was losing the foundations that had always sustained him made him even more determined not to give away anything to Patricia. He steeled himself. He made his thoughts run cold. She was just another grifter working her own selfish angle.

A long silence followed Lisbon's request. Jane knew the technique. Patricia was still trying to read him, waiting for him to look at her so she could land on an angle to pursue. And he wouldn't do it. He kept his eyes on the table in front of him, waiting. He'd force her hand. She'd have to decide on the angle, and that would reveal what it was she wanted and give him back the upper hand he was so accustomed to having. He fought the urge to cross his arms in front of him.

The silence lingered. Lisbon shifted, always one to hate such indirect aggression.

Patricia finally spoke: "I want you to know, Patrick, that I will understand completely if you want nothing to do with me after I tell you my story. You have every right to feel the way you do about me. You have every right to judge me as harshly as you see fit. And please know that I will honor any decision you make regarding me. If you want to never see me again, I will promise to never cross your path again. But I believe I have crossed your path now for a reason. I did not seek you out—and you cannot know how much I regret that decision now—but I am old enough to know that when an opportunity to heal something broken is delivered so effortlessly it is unwise to avoid it, no matter how painful the experience will be."

She was very good, Jane had to give her that. She'd played a solidly plausible first card, one that pretended to give him all the cards, one that was meant to open him up to whatever followed. He kept his eyes on the table.

"I want to tell you there were very specific reasons for me to leave my only child, the one person who mattered most to me at the time. But I also want to tell you the context of the situation, because it won't make sense unless you know who I was back then and why I would make such a decision. I have only come to understand it more fully myself in the last couple days. I told myself stories over the years that explained the decision one way and then another way, and always in a way that brought me some measure of comfort, but now that I see the man you have become, I realize how wrong I was. I realize that my decision was not so much about the circumstances surrounding it, but about how ill-equipped I was to handle it."

Jane understood the angle she had clearly chosen: portray herself as a hapless victim to gain sympathy and empathy. How pedestrian. And yet there was one question he could not resist asking. "And what kind of man do you think I've become," he asked, looking coldly at her.

"Jane," Lisbon warned.

"No," Jane said, "I want to know. I want to know how powerful her _psychic_ abilities are to determine what kind of man I am after spending, what? Twenty minutes with me."

"Jane," Lisbon said with clear annoyance now.

"I think you are a man who has suffered greatly and yet still attempts to do good in the world. I think that makes you a fine and decent man," Patricia said.

Jane scoffed and smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Then you really don't know anything about me. Other than what you've read in papers, that is."

Patricia considered him. "I'm sorry," she said.

"For what?" Jane asked innocently.

"Jane, I mean it. Just let her finish," Lisbon said.

"I'm sorry for leaving you in that world. I'm sorry for not searching for you later when I was older and stronger and smarter," Patricia said.

Lisbon was getting fidgety, like she was prepared to throw herself between them if the situation called for it. He knew she was right, they really should get the facts so they can verify something more concrete about this woman, about why she was here, but watching Patricia's completely guileless face was making his blood boil.

"What you are sorry for is—"

"_Jane,_" Lisbon practically growled at him and it was enough to rein him back in.

He cast his eyes down to the table again. He was going to have to bare knuckle it to get through this, and he would have to keep himself from looking at her. He crossed his arms loosely in front of his chest.

"Please, go on," Lisbon said almost too politely.

Patricia hesitated. "Maybe I should—"

"No, Jane is like this with everyone he doesn't trust," Lisbon explained with the same politeness. "Please, go on."

Patricia was quiet again. When she started talking, she spoke softly and carefully, and Jane could tell she was speaking directly to him. "I was fifteen and barely literate when I joined the carnival. I joined it for a boy. I had gone on the first night it was in town and he was running the ring toss and by the time they left a week later I was one of them. I doubt my parents even reported me missing. They were both alcoholics, both physically and verbally abusive. The carnival was a safe haven comparatively and the boy was sweet. Jack. Jack Carver. We were together for a few months before Alex started to pursue me. He was older, a man, and he made me feel special for catching his eye. Jack didn't have a chance against Alex Jane. Neither did I."

Jane heard her laugh softly.

"He could be so charming when he wanted something, and he most definitely wanted me. Later I understood that Alex wasn't just interested in my girlish figure. I had gained a reputation for knowing things I had no reason to know. I'd always had this ability, but had never shared it with anyone before. Never really understood it either. But I had a real family finally. People who could actually see me, who cared about me, who appreciated the things I did. I started to slowly open up to them. And Alex was very interested in what I knew about others and how it might help us 'get ahead'. He was always about 'getting ahead.' He got me my own act, Simone: Psychic Girl Wonder."

Jane looked up at her, startled by the name. _Simone_. It sounded distantly familiar. Everything she said about his father was immediately familiar, but the name jogged something in his memory and he tried to bring it in focus.

Patricia continued talking to him in the same soft voice, as if she were trying to break something to him very, very gently. "He taught me everything he knew about reading people, but he said with my finishing touches we'd be rolling in the dough. And we did… okay. I mean nobody makes that much money in that life, but we did well for ourselves considering. And then I got pregnant."

Patricia smiled at Jane. He saw tears welling up in her eyes and he quickly looked away, not trusting his reaction to _that_.

"From the moment I knew for sure I was going to have a baby, everything shifted. I was a kid, sixteen by then, but I knew I had to grow up. I had to be better than what my parents were. They had both dropped out of high school and so had I. They had allowed their sorrows to overcome them by sliding into a bottle every night. I promised myself I would do better for my child. I started taking care of myself. Eating better, finding textbooks at second hand stores and reading them, working out the problems. I had always thought I was not very bright, but I found that I could get through the textbooks pretty quickly, that I had confused stupidity for what was simply a matter of missing the lessons due to all my _illnesses_ when I lived with my parents. I started to gain some confidence about myself. Alex was so much older, I had always just let him run the show, something he was completely happy to do. But when you came, when my baby came… well… that was _my_ show."

She laughed. "Of course, that's when the arguing started, but I won as many as I lost, something that surprised even Alex. I made him marry me, because I thought that was what you were supposed to do. I never got a high school diploma, but the study I did starting when you were still just cells replicating never ended. But back then you were my whole world. Everything I did was to make a happy life for you, even bettering myself was about you."

Jane shifted uncomfortably and frowned. He didn't like her sudden use of _you_, because he recognized it as the subtle technique it was to draw people further into the confidence game at hand. And yet he couldn't help wanting to hear more. The picture she painted of her life with his father was nothing like what he remembered his father telling him, which wasn't much at all, and Jane succumbed to the universal pull of all children to want to know more about their origins. Instead of resisting her story, he began to listen. Even if she could not be trusted, Jane could not overcome the wish to know.

"And you were a happy baby and a happy toddler. When you smiled it was like the sun breaking through the darkest clouds. Everyone loved you. It was like you had all these little fairies and sprites tromping along beside you. People just brightened when they saw you. And you had a way of knowing things too before you could even speak. We'd be in a crowd of carnies and you'd toddle over to the one feeling the lowest and hand him a block or a plastic donut or whatever and smile that smile."

Jane's wish to know took a sudden turn. "I think I've had enough of the context," he said. "It's late—or early—and I haven't had much sleep and today may very well be a day that Red John kills another woman and child. So maybe you can speed this up and we can get back to focusing on what's really important."

He saw Lisbon turn to look at him. She had been raptly listening to Patricia and he wasn't all too comfortable with her knowing any of this, let alone how she was looking at him now. He saw he had effectively thrown Patricia, who was currently showing some alarm at being cut short. Maybe she wasn't as good as he had thought. Maybe if he could pull himself together, he could completely disarm her and get rid of her.

"I'm sorry," Patricia said.

"Yeah, that's been established," Jane said. He rolled his hand in a forward circle. "Maybe we can move on now."

"Jane," Lisbon said, snapping out of her stupor.

Jane slid his eyes over to her to show he was not impressed with what had just happened. Lisbon had taken control only to sit raptly at Patricia's knee, like a kid at a library circle.

"No, he's right. There are more important things at stake here and I'm…"

Jane could see she was going to say _I'm sorry_ again but stopped herself. He suppressed a smile. She really wasn't as good as he had thought.

Patricia lifted her chin and considered him. He smiled the biggest and brightest smile ever at her in response.

"Goddammit, Jane," Lisbon said.

He looked at her with mock horror. "Language, Lisbon. Language." He was aware that everything about the immediate situation suggested he was in complete control, but Jane had never felt so out of control, save for the time he had spent behind the locked doors of the psych ward. That realization made him go cold all over.

"No, it's okay," Patricia said to Lisbon. "It's okay."

Jane smiled again. "See Lisbon, it's all okay."

"Goddammit, Jane," Lisbon said again, shaking her head as if the whole thing was already over.

"It happened just after your 10th birthday party. Do you remember that party?" Patricia asked.

"What happened?" Jane asked. "You've been leading up to something this whole time. Just get to it already."

Patricia opened her mouth and then closed it. She was reading him again and the thought that she might see how out of control he really was made him crazy.

"What happened!" he demanded. He had startled her and saw that she was on the verge of crying.

"You were two digits," she said. "Two digits, that's what we called it when you turned 10."

Jane looked away. _Two digits_ sounded familiar in a way that made him uneasy. He wouldn't look at her or acknowledge what she was saying. He couldn't tell if he wanted to cry because she was so close to crying or because of something else.

"We had it after hours. You kids didn't have hours. The only time we could do anything normal like a birthday party was after the carnival shut down. The party started at 10. Do you remember the baby elephant?" she asked. "All the kids got to ride the elephant. Do you remember that?"

Jane remembered but didn't answer.

"It was after midnight, and while the elephant rides were happening I started cleaning up. I took a garbage bag full of paper plates and cups and wrapping paper to where the garbage bins were and that's where I walked into the wrong place at the wrong time. There were two of the carnies, two men, both ex-cons, who were known to be robbing electronic stores on the side. The local police had been around that day questioning some of us. One of them, Troy Anderson, was holding a boy named Ricky, a 19-year-old kid from Arkansas, by his hair and punching him in the face. And Zeke Carlyle held a gun to Ricky's head and was yelling at him, asking him if he'd squealed. Ricky was crying and pleading, saying he hadn't said a word, and Zeke didn't believe him. He told Troy to let him go and then shot him in the head, right in the forehead."

Jane knew those names, no, he knew those people. He scoured his memory of that time and came up with clear pictures of all of them: Ricky, Troy, Zeke. And he remembered the rumors. Ricky had just disappeared and left his things and the kids all whispered that Zeke had killed him. Jane just didn't remember that it happened at the same time as his birthday. The same time his mother had left.

"You remember something," Patricia said.

Jane ignored her, remaining as impassive as possible.

Patricia continued. "I must have cried out because they both saw me. I turned and ran but they easily caught me. They took me to our trailer. I know they would have killed me too if they hadn't liked Alex. They knew Alex would keep the carnie code and they told him to keep me in line or they'd make our lives hell. And then they made Alex help them get rid of the body as insurance."

"Where did this happen?" Lisbon asked.

"Outside of Ft. Worth," Patricia answered.

"Go on," Lisbon said

"When they left to get Ricky, I went to get you. I was so scared I ended the party early. I said I was sick and needed to get to bed early. When Alex got back I begged him to leave the carnival, just cut our ties and go. We fought all night. The carnival was all Alex had ever known. He was born into it and couldn't imagine life outside of it. I couldn't imagine living with Troy and Zeke always there, knowing what they had done. I had seen Zeke. He had killed without compunction. He would kill me or Alex or you without a second thought if necessary. But Alex said he could handle Troy and Zeke, that I just needed to keep my mouth shut and everything would be fine. But the fact was that nothing had been fine for some time. I was becoming more uncomfortable with the lifestyle, the constant conning. And I didn't like what Alex was starting to teach you. He wanted to start using you in his cons. Our stage show was a hokey mother and son routine that people enjoyed. They were mostly entertained and sometimes we were helpful, but we never forced anything. They got what they paid for."

Jane looked up at her and frowned. A routine? Together? He had never heard _that_ before.

Patricia stopped and watched him. "You don't remember," she said. "Madame Simone and her Psychic Boy Wonder?" She read the answer on his face and her own face crumbled into a pained expression. "I don't understand," she said, her voice catching on something between a cry and sob. "Why would you remember Zeke or Ricky and not something you did almost every day with your mother? I don't understand."

"I don't know," he said and turned away from her. He stood up, needing to move. The wall of windows now revealed a backyard with a wide manicured lawn contained by high hedges, the sky still inky but brightening in anticipation of sunrise. Jane went and stared out at the dawning day.

"Okay," Patricia said, "Okay." She collected herself before continuing. "Alex was training you to steal people's life savings and I had been fighting against it for some time. Watching Ricky get shot was the final straw for me. I couldn't continue. The next day when I told Alex that I was leaving with you, with or without him, he became enraged. He told me that was never going to happen, that he'd hand me over to Zeke before he let his son be taken away. And I saw that he meant it. He was tired of losing battles to me, to the world, and I realize now that I had carelessly threatened to take away what he saw as the best part of himself: you. That night after the carnival shut down, he forced me into our truck. He had a bag packed and an envelope of cash and he drove me to the bus stop and told me if I ever came close to you again, he would tell Zeke that I had gone to the police. He didn't even let me say goodbye to you."

Jane heard the early birds start up their chirping outside, but inside the room had gone completely quiet. He knew Patricia would say no more. She'd ended her story and was now waiting for him. And what was he supposed to say? It was a sad story, and just enough of it lined up with the little bit he remembered. If the story were true, he would have spent most of his life hating the woman for something she didn't really do. Could that even be reconciled after so many years? But the story had all the classic markers of a con. His father was dead and Jane doubted if the likes of Troy Anderson and Zeke Carlyle had lived past 40 given their lifestyle. In the end, an uncorroborated story was just a story.

Lisbon broke the silence. "Would you be willing to give an official statement about what happened? I would imagine that Ft. Worth has a cold case file on this Ricky person."

"Of course," Patricia said.

He knew they were waiting for him to say something, but he had nothing to say. He'd done what Lisbon had asked. He turned and left, heading for his bedroom. He was tired and needed to sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

Lisbon watched Jane cross the living room and disappear into the dark hallway. She turned back and looked at Patricia who was tearing up again.

"Did you ever report any of this to the police? Later, I mean." Lisbon asked.

Patricia shook her head.

"Why not?" Lisbon asked.

"I believed Alex. In the carnie world you are either in or you're out, and I had mistaken his presence at my side for love. I thought being his wife and the mother of his only child would trump the carnie world, but I was wrong. I was also suddenly all alone in the world and having to figure out how to survive in it. I literally had nowhere to go, and the money Alex gave me was not enough to live off of for long. I knew all the tricks for getting people to give me their money for nothing more than a smile and a story, but I vowed to leave that life behind me forever. Then the depression came. The grief of losing Patrick was all-consuming, but I also lost my surrogate family. Everything in my life was gone except for me. And who was I without all that? Nobody it seemed. It took some time for me to figure things out."

"And you obviously did," Lisbon said.

"Yes," Patricia said. She smiled sadly. "But it took a long time. Ultimately, it took finding love again. I met my husband about four years later. He was kind and patient and he didn't want anything from me. He just wanted to be with me."

"So why not then? Or at least try to find your son then? He would have been old enough to understand what had happened," Lisbon pointed out.

Patricia grimaced. "I have questioned that myself very much these last two days and I can say that I have always made excuses for not trying to find him. We were living in remote jungles and third world cities by then, living very much a vagrant lifestyle with few connections to the outside world. I…" She faltered and Lisbon saw she had stopped herself from saying something. Patricia looked away and Lisbon's radar pinged. "This is the part I am most ashamed of," Patricia said. "I have spent most of my life searching for lost children but never attempted to find my own. I suspect all my efforts, my compelling need to do the work, was my way of compensating for my failure to find the lost child that mattered the most to me."

Lisbon sighed. Patricia's story was incredible, so incredible it almost had to be the truth. What sort of grifter had the ability to make up such a story and then tell it with the emotional intelligence Patricia obviously had? She recognized the woman's sorrow. It was not unlike Jane's. This was deep sorrow, the kind that still resided just beneath the surface, the kind that threatened a bottomless pit, the kind that resurfaced often and still felt raw years afterward. And Lisbon realized something else: if all the parts of the story were true, then both Jane and his mother had dealt with their loss of each other in exactly the same way, not with booze or drugs or any other sort of addictive behaviors but by simply not thinking about it. Not acknowledging it. Telling themselves stories that rationalized away the pain. It was all very child of an alcoholic behavior. And wasn't Jane doing exactly that now? About the recent murders, about his mother, their past? The question was whether Jane _needed_ to acknowledge the pain. Lisbon sensed the danger of opening up this can of worms. Patricia had said she wanted to tell him her story as a way to heal their broken relationship, but Lisbon wondered if that was a good idea for Jane. Maybe a year ago, sure, but now? Not so much.

"Agent Lisbon," Patricia said. "Can I tell you what I see?"

Lisbon's radar pinged again. "Of course," she said warily.

"I understand how awkward this all is coming at this time, and I see your concern for Patrick. I see that he trusts you completely, and I'm glad he has someone in his life like you. I have had a very difficult time reading him because my own emotions keep clouding my vision, but I do see clearly that Patrick is very lost. It also seems clear that something happened to him, that his memory loss is specific to me and not anything else. That is disturbing on many levels, and not just to me personally. My presence here is clearly upsetting to him, and I'm afraid that I could potentially cause more pain or more problems for him than not."

Lisbon wanted to say that was a very real possibility, but held back. She wanted to know where this analysis was going before admitting to anything. "Okay," she said.

"I think you are the only person who _can_ see clearly through most of this mess."

"Well, I don't know about _that_."

"Nevertheless," Patricia continued, "I will not choose to leave. I don't want to leave, and I don't want to cause Patrick anymore pain. If leaving is, in fact, the right decision for Patrick, I cannot be the one to make that decision. I would never be able to live with that, especially knowing what I know now. You are the only one who can make that decision."

"You're under protective custody for a reason," Lisbon said.

"Yes, but only you and your team know that I am Patrick's mother. Nobody else in the world could connect me to Patrick, and certainly not this serial killer, Red John."

"Are you asking me to make that decision?" Lisbon asked.

"No!" Patricia cried.

"What are you saying then, exactly?

Patricia chose her words carefully. "I'm saying that I want desperately to repair my relationship with my son. I want to get to know him. I want him in my life. But I am starting to doubt whether that is best for Patrick at this time. You obviously know him and care about his well being. You are a far better judge of how this situation is affecting him, and I'm asking you if you think my being here will cause any harm to him."

Numerous thoughts coursed through Lisbon's head along with a clear wish that she had calm, rational Jane sitting at her side telling her _She's lying_ or _She's telling the truth_ or _She's hiding something_. More troubling was that Lisbon had the same concern. Jane's _not thinking_ was an attempt to keep from unraveling completely, and it wasn't exactly healthy. Lisbon wanted to suggest professional help to him, but she knew he would resist. At least at the moment. If things got worse, he might relent.

"I can't predict that," Lisbon said. "But Jane is the strongest person I know. He's lived through far worse."

"Yes, he has," Patricia said. "I guess I'm really saying that I trust you will make the right decision regarding him."

"I'm going to have Agent Rigsby come up and take your statement," Lisbon said. "I think the Ft. Worth PD will be happy to get the information."

"Of course, yes," Patricia said.

Lisbon went to the kitchen to collect the case files she had left there and then went down to assemble the team. She found them all at work in the large rec room that now served as their bullpen. She closed the door behind her. A fourth victim board had been added for Lorelei and Michaela and the pool table was covered with case files. Cho was on the phone, Van Pelt on the computer, and Rigsby was keeping an eye on the array of monitors linked to the surveillance cameras, one of which was trained on the rec room door. They were all under strict orders to keep Patricia entirely in the dark about the investigation, and staying in such close proximity, meant extra care was needed. Lisbon wasn't going to leave anything to chance.

Lisbon went to Rigsby. "I need you to go get a statement from Patricia about a murder she witnessed 35 years ago. Van Pelt, you take over for Rigsby."

"Okay, Boss," they said in unison.

Cho hung up the phone and raised his eyebrows at her.

"Whatcha got, Cho?" she asked.

"You're not going to believe this."

Lisbon sighed. Would the unbelievable never end? "What now?"

"That was San Francisco PD. Someone filed a missing person's report on Patricia Steiner. Bertram caught it and pulled it."

"Who is it?" Lisbon asked. The whole team looked to Cho.

"26-year-old white male named Ryan Steiner. Says he's her son. Looks like Jane has a brother."


	13. Chapter 13

_AN: Thanks to everyone for their reviews. They keep me going. :) jw, I so love your thoughtful readings, so don't lose them!_

* * *

Jane heard a soft knocking on the door. He blinked his eyes open. He'd drifted in and out of sleep for the time it took the sunlight streaming through the slats of the window shade to move from the top of the bed to the foot.

Lisbon poked her head inside. "You awake?"

"Always." He didn't like the look on her face. She was obviously troubled but trying to hide it, which meant something else had happened or she had new information he wasn't going to like.

She came inside and closed the door. He saw her reluctance as she came to the foot of the bed and sat down, folding a leg underneath her so she could face him. Then she seemed to get distracted as she looked him up and down. He lay stretched out on his back with one arm behind his head. He was on top of the covers, still in his suit and shoes.

"Did you even bring pajamas or do you just sleep in your suits all the time?" she asked skeptically.

"When you sleep as little as I do, changing into pajamas gets quite time consuming. Even sleeping naked isn't all that efficient." Lisbon smirked at him and he smiled, glad to get a rise out of her.

"I'm not even going to ask about your showering habits," Lisbon said.

"Touche."

"Are you going to eat today?"

Jane shrugged.

"There's Chinese for you."

He shrugged again.

"Are you okay?"

"You don't have to worry."

"Oh, really? And what about all of this is _not_ worrisome?"

He shrugged again.

"Okay, so, the fact that you are not coming back with some condescending comment is worrisome, Jane. The fact that you have a serious and weirdly specific memory loss is worrisome, if not a little alarming. The fact that—"

"The fact that my long lost mother shows up with some song and dance story of how she's a victim of circumstance right after Red John launches a campaign of terror directed specifically at me is the most worrisome thing here," Jane said hotly. "I certainly hope you are not going to let her distract you from the case, because that would be playing right into Red John's hands."

Lisbon didn't respond immediately and Jane saw she was not convinced. "Jane," she said finally, "the fact that you don't see the error in that logic is seriously alarming."

"Red John doesn't operate on logic," he said.

"No, but we do, and you especially. Do you even see the error? I know there's a Latin phrase for it…"

"Post hoc ergo propter hoc," he said. "But everything Red John does, especially now, is meant to alarm. That's the whole point. He's piling it on."

"I know, and I'm going to ask you again: are you okay?"

He frowned at her but didn't answer.

"We checked out her story," Lisbon said. "Ft. Worth dug into their files. They have a John Doe from near that time that might be a match. Troy Anderson is currently serving time in a federal prison in Beaumont, Texas for armed robbery and manslaughter. Zeke Carlyle is dead, killed in a prison fight in Louisiana, and he was caught on ballistics evidence, so they're looking into comparing that to the John Doe evidence."

"And Lodi and Stockton and Bakersfield and …" Jane didn't want to name the last one.

"We're working on it," Lisbon said.

"How? There are only so many of you."

"Bertram's added a second team. Stanton's. They're collecting evidence. We're mostly processing it."

"Mostly?"

"The team is mostly off the grid, but we're going into the field on a case by case basis."

"And how are you off the grid? Isn't this a CBI safe house?"

"No, it's a rental I chose. Bertram is the only person in the CBI who knows where we are. We've got scrambled IP addresses, secure phone lines."

"So you trust him."

"Not completely, no."

"Good."

"I don't trust you either, Jane. Not like this."

Jane sighed. "Well, that's good too. You shouldn't." He met her gaze steadily.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Do you think any part of your mother's story is true?"

"The best cons are always partly true."

"Yes, but tell me what parts you think are true. Tell me what parts are suspect."

"Fine."

"Start at the beginning. Do you know anything about her life before she met your father or had you? Any family stories?"

Jane considered this. "No. I don't. But everything she said about my father is true. The birthday party is true. The elephant. I remember a lot about that party. I just…" His pulse quickened. He recognized that whenever he thought about what he didn't know, didn't remember, his fear response kicked in. He sat up and swung his feet to the ground, his back to her now. "I realize how strange this is, Lisbon," he said, not able to stop the slight panic in his voice, "and I don't like it."

"Well, if we just walk through the story slowly, we can separate out the parts that don't jibe. Can we do that?"

Jane sighed. "Okay."

"The things she said about you, do you remember any of that?"

"No. I don't remember doing any kind of act with my mother. I just remember my father coaching me. I remember doing a solo act. Just me. Starting when I was … ten or eleven.

"Do you remember the people involved in the murder?"

"Yes. I can even picture them. Ricky Streeter ran one of the ticket booths and he just disappeared. Left all his belongings, which we all divided up. I got his army knife. Everyone said Zeke killed him. Zeke was a scary guy, but it was one of those kid rumors that seemed more like a ghost story than a fact."

"So do you remember if Ricky's disappearance happened at the same time your mother left?"

Jane shook his head. "No, that surprised me."

"Two people disappearing at the same time would be talked about. A lot. Maybe investigated."

"Yeah. Talked about. I remember everyone talking about Ricky. But I don't remember anything about how my mother left… or how people reacted to it. If they did at all. I just remember being with my dad. Just the two of us. I mean, what is that? How can that be?"

Lisbon shook her head. "That's pretty messed up, Jane. Something happened. Maybe another fugue state. Losing a mother at a young age is traumatic. I don't care how you lose her. It's an emotional trauma. Whatever happened, you seem to have lost only memories related to her. But you've lost them for decades. That's not a typical fugue episode."

He turned to her. "Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"What you've been reluctant to tell me since you walked in."

"You're not going to like it."

"Obviously."

"I think you need to talk to your mother."

Jane scoffed. "About what?"

"About the things you've forgotten. Jane, her arrival has thrown you so far off balance I don't think you're going to get back to any kind of equilibrium until we get to the bottom of this memory loss. It's a huge blind spot."

"She's got you convinced she's not a threat."

"I'm about 85% convinced she is who she says she is. There are still things that need to be checked out, that don't quite add up. But her concern for you is very real. And according to her, your life before she left was fairly idyllic, in a carnie sort of way, so I don't think there is much harm in trying to recover your memory. And there are things to gain from trying."

"Like what?" Jane asked.

"Your equilibrium for one," Lisbon said.

"That's not assured."

"No, and I have considered that there's a chance the opposite might occur. That the more you unearth, the more out of balance you'll become. I think it's worth a try but there is a risk."

"So you think there'll be some sort of "healing" experience just from talking about lost memories," Jane said sarcastically and with finger quotes.

"I think you were a child when you lost those memories. I think as an adult you'll be able to handle them. And besides, the more she gives us, the more we have to catch her in a lie. We can see if lying is a habit of hers. She might hang herself with enough of them, you never know."

Jane looked skeptically at her. "Why do I feel like I'm being played right now?"

Lisbon smiled sweetly at him. "See. A third reason. You can't even read _me_."

"Speaking of reading. Can you send Cho to the library for some spy novels? I'm going a little stir crazy, what with the not sleeping and not thinking."

"Cho had to drive up to San Francisco. Rigsby can go."

Jane frowned. "Rigsby won't know the bearable from the schlock. And what's in San Francisco?"

"Do you want me to be with you?"

"What?"

"When you talk with your mother."

"I haven't really made that decision yet, Lisbon."

"But you will, and there's no time like the present."

"It's really the only moment we have, Lisbon. The present. Why go back?"

"Do you want to get cleaned up or something? I mean, when was the last time you showered anyway?"

"What is with the sudden interest with me in the shower? Has your GQ subscription run out?"

Lisbon snorted and stood up. "Let me know if you want me there." She turned to go.

When she reached the door, Jane said, "Lisbon."

"Yeah?"

"I do."

"Good."

"Doubtful."

"Take a shower, Jane. You're looking a little cross-eyed." She closed the door behind her.

The panic was creeping back at the thought of what he was going to subject himself to. He'd spent the whole morning not thinking about how Patricia's story would change things if it turned out to be completely true. He'd spent a lifetime hating the idea of his mother for rejecting him and his father. What if the opposite was the actual truth? It made him a little dizzy to even consider it, so he shoved it out of his thoughts. He'd consider it if, and only if, they could verify the truth, the whole truth. He got up. A shower did sound fortifying.


	14. Chapter 14

Lisbon found Patricia still sitting at the dining room table, flipping through old _Sunset_ magazines. She knew Patricia was making herself as available as possible—she'd been hanging out in the living room and dining area all morning—and Lisbon hadn't spoken more than pleasantries with her since hearing the bombshell of her having a second son. Lisbon had contacted SFPD immediately and told them to hang on to Ryan Steiner until Cho could get there to bring him back to Santa Clarita. Cho had orders not disclose anything other than that Patricia Steiner was in protective custody. Lisbon figured she had five or six hours before that explosion would arrive and she needed to use the time wisely.

She went and pulled a chair out and sat across from Patricia.

"How is he?" Patricia asked.

"He's okay. Considering."

Patricia nodded.

"I'm going to be very frank with you, Patricia. I think your concern for him is genuine and it matches mine. His memory loss is alarming. And Jane is not someone who trusts the kind of professional who might help with this sort of thing. I have gotten him to agree to talk with you more to see if it can jog some memories. But you have to understand that he believes you are somehow connected to Red John and part of a … larger plan."

"What?!" Patricia cried out. She flung herself back in her chair.

Lisbon waved her hand out like these things can't be helped. She had meant to alarm. She was being Jane in his absence, looking for any cracks in the façade, hitches in the emotions.

"That's crazy," Patricia said.

"You have not been chasing Red John for almost ten years," Lisbon said. "You have not had your spouse and child viciously butchered because of something you said. You have no idea what crazy is in this case."

Patricia went quiet as she took in Lisbon's words. Lisbon watched a shadow of fear and sadness pass over her face. These moments were what convinced Lisbon that Patricia was not working for Red John. Patricia's emotions were natural and apparent and on the surface. Normal.

"You're right," Patricia said apologetically. "I don't really know anything about him or his situation. And I feel so… selfish for insisting on staying here. It's…" Tears welled up in her eyes. "I see how … lost he is, and I'm trying to be careful."

"I appreciate your situation," Lisbon said. "I think you can be helpful and I've gotten Jane to agree to continue talking to you."

Patricia looked relieved.

"I'm specifically looking for you to help him remember his life before you left. That is a definite dividing line in his memory. He does not remember that your sudden disappearance happened at the same time that this Ricky Streeter disappeared."

"Okay," Patricia said, as if she were a part of the team.

"He is obviously very emotional when he is with you. From now on, I want you to do everything you can to make your presence here as self-effacing as possible. Can you do that?"

"I… I don't know. I am obviously emotional too."

Lisbon considered this. "We'll have to see how it goes. I'm reserving the right to stop the whole thing if it gets out of hand."

"Okay," Patricia said.

"I've asked Jane to talk to you. Nothing more. You will have to drive the conversation in a way that will not provoke him. Can you do that?"

Patricia looked a bit confused. "I think so. But, you seem to have an idea of how this will all play out."

Lisbon half laughed. "No. I don't. I have known Jane for a long time and I cannot say I know him or how his mind works to any definitive degree. And he is clearly not himself now. But I can say that he will probably try to provoke you at every turn. It's what he does to flush out the truth."

"Okay," Patricia said.

"It would be best to just be honest and open with him. He suspects you are hiding something."

Lisbon saw Patricia frown slightly and look down. "Okay," she said with less confidence than the last time.

"Are you?" Lisbon asked.

Patricia looked up, surprised.

"Because you seem like you are."

Patricia considered Lisbon in her Jane-like way, searching her face, assessing. And then she stopped. Lisbon could see her visibly shut the reading down.

"I'm sorry," Patricia said. "I … I can see you are trying to help him and protect him at the same time and I'm very glad for that. To answer your question, I have made decisions that I am ashamed of now, and I don't know how or _if_ I should explain them to Patrick."

"Well, again, I think honesty is the best avenue to take with Jane."

Patricia nodded reluctantly.

"I'm going down to check on the team, but I'll be back. Jane should be out shortly."

"Okay."

Lisbon went down to the rec room. Van Pelt was working on Ryan Steiner and Lisbon wanted to know what she had so far. Rigsby was processing the evidence from the latest crime scene that Stanton's team was sharing.

"Van Pelt, you got anything yet?" Lisbon asked, coming in and leaning her hip against the pool table.

"It's a little sketchy," Van Pelt said. "Ryan Steiner works at the medical research center. He was more than likely the one calling Patricia every day, though the phone calls came from a shared line in a break room and were paid for with a phone card. But here's the weird part: he's not a US citizen at all. He would qualify for dual citizenship, but there's no record of any attempt to secure that right. He's been mostly in the States since he started college at Harvard at 18 on a student visa. When he leaves the country, he mostly goes to Brazil, but there are trips to Europe and China and Iceland. He's here on a work visa now. He has a passport from Brunei and they are refusing to share records, citing privacy rights and lack of criminal charges."

"Why would two US citizens not want their son to be one?" Lisbon asked. "And where the hell is Brunei?"

"It's a sovereign state on the island of Borneo. His age and Patricia's timeline suggests he was probably born there. It's kind of interesting. Brunei is a tiny country on the island and considered fully developed. The population is less than half a million, but it's a wealthy country due to oil and natural gas development."

Lisbon frowned. She was starting to think Patricia was becoming more of a pain in the ass than Jane.

"Did you tell Jane?" Van Pelt asked.

"No. And I'm not going to for the time being. I want to see if Patricia fesses up to it before Cho gets back. Where is he now?"

"Left San Francisco about thirty minutes ago."

"How are you doing, Rigsby?"

"Nothing has popped yet. It's all pretty standard Red John," he said grimly.

"All right, keep working. We're going to start sleeping in 5 hour shifts starting tonight. We need to stay alert. This may end up being a long haul. I'm going to be upstairs refereeing that situation. I hope I won't need back-up," she said with a grimace.

"How is he?" Van Pelt asked.

"He's holding it together. Barely."

"What do you think happened?" Rigsby asked. "I mean, to Jane."

"I don't know. But I sure as hell am going to do my best to find out," Lisbon said. She grabbed some case files and headed back upstairs.

She and Patricia were both reading at the table when Jane finally emerged from his bedroom in a fresh suit, his hair clean and coifed, and a look on his face that Lisbon could only describe as a showman's face. He cleaned up well, and Lisbon had the sudden thought that all his three-piece suits were like body armor, a visible reminder of the layers of protection he wrapped himself in and the formal distance he kept from the rest of the world.

He passed them by wordlessly and went to the kitchen. Lisbon followed him.

"Chinese is in the fridge," she said.

Jane had the kettle under the faucet. He raised his eyebrows at her and smiled. "Okay." After getting the kettle on the burner, he leaned against the stove to wait.

"Seriously, when was the last time you ate?" Lisbon asked.

"I'm not the one with questionable weight issues," Jane said.

"Don't deflect."

"Don't smother. Or is that _mother_?" Jane smiled ironically. "You got me to shower. Be happy, Lisbon."

Lisbon sighed. Jane had that glint in his eye that meant he had decided to turn this all into one of his dramatic games. The problem was she was pretty sure he had no end game other than to completely discredit Patricia. She considered her options before landing on one that might work. She walked over to him, getting so far into his personal space to knock the glint out of his eyes and see it replaced with surprise and uncertainty and maybe even a little fear.

In a low voice, she said, "You are the strongest man I know, Jane. I work with a lot of tough guys with big guns, and I know they would not have survived what you have and been able to go on and do what you have done. I know this is hard for you, but you can do this. I know you can. If you put that brilliant mind of yours to it, you can do this in a way that makes you better for it."

By the time she finished, she saw his eyes open to a place of vulnerability she had only ever seen the briefest glimpse of over the years, usually after some act of violence he had just witnessed. He swallowed and said nothing.

She turned and went back to her seat at the table. Patricia had obviously been watching them and she had a look of confusion on her face as she watched Lisbon sit down and open up a case file. All her looks of confusion over the last two days were another reason Lisbon was pretty sure she wasn't working for Red John: the woman had no idea what she was stepping into when she decided to drive over to CBI HQ the day before. No idea whatsoever.


	15. Chapter 15

Jane gathered up his tea cup and reserves in the kitchen. Lisbon had never pushed him like this, _would_ never push him like this unless she thought it important. And seeing as his internal compass _and_ radar was AWOL, Jane went to the only solid thing he had left: Lisbon. And she was rock solid, pursuing her leads, working the case like a cop, as she so liked to say. The difference was she was way ahead of him this time. He didn't see her coming in for the kill until she was right there in his face trying to give him the strength he wasn't sure he really had anymore. He'd come out of his bedroom prepared to decimate Patricia and Lisbon had completely disarmed him in under twenty seconds. As much as he didn't want to admit it, the rational thing to do at this point would be to continue following her lead. The question was whether he could actually do it.

He saw Lisbon sitting at the head of the long table next to Patricia, her back to him, head bent over a case file, like it was just another day at the office. It was comforting, really, though he could see some tension in her shoulders, like she wasn't certain he would acquiesce, like she wasn't certain she could keep him on the rails. Because there was Patricia, his mother, come back from the dead at the worst possible time, well, second worst possible time. A jangle of alarm rose up in him at this thought, which made him wonder why that was so. Why was it that he was willing and able to confront a brutally vicious madman like Red John, but when it came to facing his own mother, a woman with all the grace and demeanor of a garden club president, he went all cold and shaky and wanted to run to the hills?

There was no reason. None that he knew of, at least. And shouldn't he pursue that? Find out why there was no definable reason for his irrational fear of a woman who held no real power over him, who didn't even know him? And if she was working for Red John, well, wouldn't that mean she _was_ Red John, in his absence so to speak? Ergo he should be able to face her as willingly and ably as he would Red John himself? What was the worst that could happen? Jane couldn't think of anything worse than what he'd already lived through, was living through.

With that thought, Jane took his tea cup and reserves to the table. He sat to the other side of Lisbon, glancing over to gauge where she was. She pressed her lips into a smile that might be mistaken for a smirk except for the absolute look of relief he saw in her eyes. She hadn't told him everything. That much was clear. Great. Something else he probably wouldn't want to know. He saw the file she was reading. Lorelei.

Patricia met his gaze with a flustered smile to which he did not respond. "Thank you," she said, "for sitting down with me again."

Jane shrugged. Lisbon closed the file.

"I told you I would understand if you didn't want to see me again, and I meant it."

Jane shrugged again.

Patricia flattened her hands out slowly on the table in front of her. She smiled hesitantly, saying, "You know, we sat at a lot of tables together back then. This is fitting."

He watched her, waiting.

"Mostly at the kitchen booth in the trailer. But we went to a lot of libraries and diners too. They call it homeschooling now, but back then I just called it schooling." She stopped, curious. "Did you ever go to a real school?"

Jane shook his head.

"You were lucky. They wouldn't have known what to do with a boy like you. You were so bright and I didn't realize how bright until much later when I understood more of the world. I never even thought to test your IQ-I mean what would we have done differently if we had known—but I am sure you would have tested in the top 1% range. And that is very rare. You were like a sponge. I didn't even have to teach you. I just got you to the books and you soaked everything up. You were doing high school algebra at 8."

She laughed and reached up to nervously smooth a strand of hair back over her ear. For the first time, Jane recognized something about her: the self-conscious gesture and laugh. He remembered that.

"I was still trying to learn it. I'd read the problems aloud, make my attempts, check the answers in the back and find them mostly wrong. You'd study the answers and then try to explain it to me. I never got it, but it was clear you did. You'd make up new problems to solve. And your memory. Oh, Lord. I taught you some memory tricks and you just took off."

Jane couldn't keep himself still. Everything she said sounded distantly familiar but not.

"Kids prefer cheese over fried green spinach," Lisbon said.

Patricia looked surprised at her. "Yes. He loved mnemonics." She turned back to him. "You would rattle off lists of things and I'd just get dizzy. At 4 you already knew all the dinosaurs and prehistoric time periods. You'd ask how to pronounce them and I didn't have a clue. Once I said _Mesoproterozoic_ was pronounced _Mesa, Arizona _because I was busy with something else, and you got mad at me because you knew it wasn't right. I had to ask a librarian the next time we visited a library before you'd forgive me."

Jane's knee was bouncing and his hands had found their way into his suit jacket pockets.

"Do you remember any of this?"

"No," he said, annoyed.

"Were you the one who taught him about the memory palace?" Lisbon asked.

Jane was further annoyed by Lisbon's curiosity. She had that rapt look on her face again and his anxiety level shot up.

"Yes," Patricia said, watching Jane. "You can imagine how all this intellectual exploration went over with the other carnies. You were always discerning about your friends, but by the time you were 5 it was clear you didn't have any peers who could understand you, who didn't bore you to tears. You'd devise games for yourself or hang out with me or other adults. You were very self sufficient but the carnies called you _Simone's shadow_. The kids were not as nice."

Jane frowned at her. Most of what she said was generally true, but _Simone_… he felt like he almost remembered that but couldn't place it anywhere.

"Now they would call you highly or profoundly gifted, depending on how you tested. There's a lot more known about kids who are intellectually gifted. Common traits. For instance, gifted kids are usually highly sensitive, emotionally and perceptively. They're highly empathic. They tend to be obsessive/compulsive perfectionists. They have an unusually strong sense of justice. They don't suffer fools well. You can imagine how living in this world might not be such a nice place for such children. People look at them differently, oddly, so they learn to protect themselves by hiding their gifts, wrapping themselves in cloaks of deception. Or, what might be a minor skirmish with authority for one child could be a traumatic fight for autonomy for a gifted one. They get into trouble. A lot. Parents and teachers want to bend them to seemingly arbitrary rules and they can't or won't bend. A bad upbringing or a series of unrecognized traumas can cause such emotional damage that the gift becomes a curse. A shockingly high number of them end up in prison."

"Jesus," Lisbon said.

Jane, too, had been so taken in by Patricia's words that his whole body had stilled. While she was talking objectively about a certain subset of the population, Jane heard a whole world of new understanding open up to him.

"Red John," he said.

"Yes," Patricia said.

"Wait… what?" Lisbon asked.

"He recognized a peer and wanted to play. But he was jealous because you had more apparent gifts than curses."

"But why all this now," Jane said.

"You did something to anger him, obviously. But more than that, you still have more gifts than curses, even after everything he's done to you. You still have more than him."

"What do I have? I don't have anything. Everyone knows I'm a walking tragedy."

Patricia paused to consider him. "You have everything, Patrick," she said. "You have people who understand you and care about you, who see you at your worst and still love you. I can guarantee you that Red John does not have that."

"He has disciples!"

"But he deceives them to get them. He knows the difference."

"How does any of this help me catch him?"

"Lightness always wins over darkness."

"No it doesn't."

"Sometimes it happens at a geological pace."

Jane stared hard at her, a buzzy pulse awakening. "And _now_ we're going to get New Agey?"

"I never subscribed to that, Patrick."

"No, you were Madame Simone. Did you wear a turban?"

"Okay," Lisbon interjected. "At the risk of sounding like one of the dim-witted 70%ers, let's not lose focus."

"No, I didn't."

"What did you charge for your psychic jungle services anyway?"

"I don't claim to be a psychic and I've never asked for payment."

"Never."

"Not since I left the carnie world, no. I don't need money. My husband works for an international NGO in third world countries. We've always lived like royalty compared to most of the natives. We don't need a second income."

Jane didn't believe her. "Once a carnie, always a carnie."

"Oh, so you're the only person who can shed your past? Really, Patrick?" She tilted her head and smiled. Then she shook her head as if to say _forget it_.

That. He remembered that too. The playful correction meant to make him question further. He was still deciding a comeback when she asked, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Maybe."

"When did you leave?"

"Leave what?"

"The carnival."

"I was 16."

Patricia was visibly shocked by this.

Lisbon said, "Really? You ran _away_ from the carnival?"

"I didn't run away. We just left. We said goodbye."

"We?" Patricia asked. "You mean Alex left too?" She looked even more shocked.

"No. Dad would never-" He stopped. Patricia was struggling with her emotions in a way that made him squirm. "Angela and I left together."

"Angela, your wife?" Patricia asked, very nearly close to tears.

"Yes. But we weren't married then."

"When did you marry?"

"Almost a year later."

"Really?" Lisbon asked. "Is that even legal?"

"Not without forged parental consent forms, no," Jane said. He hated the way they were looking at him, Lisbon like he was a carnival freak and Patricia like—he wasn't sure. "Why does that upset you?" he asked her. "What does it matter?"

Tears fell freely down Patricia's face as she shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said, "I just had no idea. I thought… I assumed you…" She stopped and wiped the tears. "I'm sorry," she said again with more meaning.

Jane shrugged. "Don't be. We had a good life." It annoyed him how much her tears bothered him.

"I'd like to know about her and your daughter. I'd like to know about that life."

Jane looked away.

"So what did you do. How did you make a living?"

"We went to Vegas first. We made do. I eventually got on stage at a smaller casino and then onto a traveling circuit."

"And your wife, what did she do?"

"I don't want to talk about this," Jane said abruptly, his voice rising in pitch and volume. "I didn't come in here to talk about this," he said to Lisbon.

"You know, he's right," Lisbon said. "We have a specific reason for being here. Let's stick to that from now on."

"Yes, of course," Patricia said. "I'm sorry, I can't help being curious, but, you're right. Your memory loss is the issue here." She visibly regrouped, looking down at the table, searching. The Lorelei Martins case file in front of Lisbon caught her eye and she quickly looked back at him.

"We learned about other things together," she said, as if just remembering it herself. "I was already curious about why I knew things I shouldn't but when you started showing that you had that ability too—even more so—I started finding everything I could about it. Which wasn't much, east of the Mississippi, or in the Midwest. I mean in Arkansas and Missouri it was all witches and goblins." She laughed. "UFOs."

Jane saw her visibly lighting up, her excitement growing as she spoke. Her laugh was one that people might call infectious.

"But out west, in Arizona, New Mexico, California, well, there was a treasure trove of information. And people. And I realize now that I was lucky to have spent all that time in the carnival world, because it makes you quite skilled at spotting the frauds, the pretenders."

"There's no such thing as a psychic. They're all fakes," Jane said, uneasy at where she was going.

"Alex was the one who labeled me," Patricia said. "The psychic in a carnival is a revered performer, but just a performer. Nobody in the carnie world believes it's anything more than pure entertainment."

"That's right."

"And yet, even before your father started pursuing me, people were coming to me for advice. After hours. And I never charged for it, in case you're wondering. I couldn't imagine charging for something that came so naturally, like breathing. By the end of my time there, you were joining me. The student had surpassed the teacher. _Patricia's_ shadow was more than just intellectually gifted." She was watching him closely, like she knew something, or was testing something.

"Carnies want to believe just as much as anyone else. They're just less trusting," he said. "They must have trusted you."

"Do you remember any of those visits?" she asked.

"No."

"Do you remember anything? Anything at all so far?"

He hesitated.

"You do," she said.

He shook his head. "Not really. Just a gesture or two. But it's just the gesture. It's not attached to you. I don't _see_ you in my memory."

He hated how Lisbon and Patricia were both staring at him now. "I guess your experiment failed, Lisbon," he said.

Lisbon pressed her lips together in frustration.

"Do you have anything you want to ask me?" Patricia asked.

Jane turned to her coldly. "No." He saw disappointment in her eyes and he suddenly realized that she had turned everything around onto him, had made them all forget that she wasn't anyone they could trust. At least not yet. "Well, except what it is you're hiding. Because I do know you're hiding something. Why don't you share that with us now." He faked a smile at her.

Lisbon sighed.

"Do you believe I'm your mother or do you think I'm an imposter?" Patricia asked.

Jane considered his answer. It would be ridiculous to deny it. There was the DNA test, but even he could see the physical resemblance now, and all her memories matched his, except for the fact that she wasn't _in_ his memories. "I believe you're my mother. I'm not convinced you don't have ulterior motives."

"I've heard both you and Agent Lisbon say that you believe I am working for Red John. Why would you think that?"

"There are no coincidences. The timing is highly questionable."

Patricia nodded. "I believe there are no coincidences either. But you're assuming a negative connection—that my arrival at this particular time is somehow meant to aid Red John in his attempt to destroy you. If that is possible, then the opposite should be considered possible too."

"What do you mean?"

"That my arrival at this time is somehow meant to aid _you_ in your attempt to destroy Red John."

Jane narrowed his eyes at her. She was incredibly good. "It must be pretty big-what you're hiding, that is."

He saw her surprise, saw he had hit the mark. She inhaled deeply and then exhaled, an obvious attempt to calm a rising anxiety. "It is."

Well. He hadn't expected that. Lisbon started going squirmy next to him, and he turned to look at her. She already knew, and she wasn't looking forward to what was coming. Jane looked back at his mother with a growing dread.

"I haven't told you everything about my life now," she said. "And I didn't intend to hide anything. I've been trying to be conscientious of you, of your feelings. I just— wanted to wait because…." She stopped, a little breathless. "It's just that I have another son."

"Oh, really," he said. He looked over at Lisbon who was looking down at the table.

"Yes. Ryan. He's 26. He lives in San Francisco now."

Jane smiled a smile that could make a blind man see. "Well, isn't that wonderful for you."


	16. Chapter 16

_Thanks everyone for the great reviews. It's always nice to hear my little story is keeping your interest. :) _

* * *

Lisbon watched Jane put his hands on the edge of the table, still smiling. "So," he said, looking at Lisbon and then back to Patricia, acting like this was all just some cordial social visit, "I'd say we're done here." He stood and pushed his chair neatly back under the table, then turned and headed for the front door. Lisbon sprang up after him, grabbing her case files as she went.

"Jane," she called out. He was down the stairs and rounding the corner to the basement. "Jane!" Jesus, he was fast and obviously pissed. He was in the rec room before she caught up with him. She found him standing stock still looking across the pool table at the newest victim board covered with photos of Lorelei and Michaela. The blood had drained from his face and he looked queasy. Van Pelt and Rigsby were caught startled and they watched as Lisbon took Jane's arm and made him turn away. She waved the case files at Rigsby to move the victim board.

Jane willingly followed her lead, but then came back to himself. He pulled his arm away from her, the angry tension returning as he looked at her. "You set me up!" he accused.

The force of his anger made her step back, the shock of it made her gut and heart squeeze painfully tight. She realized that she had never experienced Jane this way before. He could be many ways with her-playful, mischievous, obsessive, flirty, thoughtful, calculating, evasive, sorrowful, lonely-but he had never once been angry with her. She turned to close the door and braced herself for this unknown territory.

"That up there," he seethed, pointing in the direction of the dining table, "was a set up. She's gotten to you!"

"No," she said. "She hasn't. That was me trying to see—"

"When did you know? Did she tell you? What did she tell you?"

"She didn't tell me anything. Ryan Steiner filed a missing persons report early this morning. That's how we found out."

"You should have told me," he said. "The fact that you didn't—"

"No, I shouldn't have told you," she said, her anger rising in the face of his. "I made a judgment call and I stand by it. If I had told you, you would not have sat down with her and I would not have found out if she is as truthful as she says she is or how important it was for her to keep him a secret."

Jane stared angrily at her as he considered her words.

"You would have done the same thing," she said, finally hitting on what was making her so angry about his accusations.

He turned away from her, not wanting to hear it, and that put him in view of the other victim boards. He averted his eyes, his anger giving way to a pained queasiness. He struggled to say something, and when he found the words, he stepped closer to her, still not looking at her, and said in a low voice only she could hear: "I wouldn't have done that. I wouldn't have played you about something that personal."

"I wasn't playing you, Jane," she said, matching his volume. "And, truthfully? I didn't think she would tell you. She and her husband have apparently been keeping Ryan somewhat of a secret to the world. In all the articles Van Pelt found about her and her husband, there is no mention of a son. Ever."

He looked at her now.

"And he's not a US citizen. He could be, legally, but he's not."

Jane frowned at this, the wheels turning on this new information. Lisbon was relieved to see his focus shift elsewhere. To see any focus at all.

"I want to see everything you have on him. And her," Jane said.

"Okay. But it's mostly all online."

Jane looked over to where Van Pelt and Rigsby sat, carefully avoiding the victim boards. "I can't stay here," he said.

"Okay. I'll get Van Pelt to load up a laptop," she said.

"Hey, boss," Van Pelt called out.

"Yeah?"

"Homeland Security finally sent over a copy of Ryan Steiner's passport."

Rigsby leaned over to look at Van Pelt's computer screen. "Holy crap," he said in disbelief.

"I know, right?" Van Pelt said.

"What?" Lisbon asked, walking over to see. When she arrived she saw what they meant: the photo of Ryan Steiner showed a young man who was the spitting image of Jane, only with darker hair. The resemblance was uncanny and made more so by the fact that the young man in the photo projected a brashness and confidence that seemed to say he had not a care in the world. She looked over at Jane, who was watching them uneasily. "You definitely have a brother, Jane," she said gently.

He let go a breath he had been holding in and reluctantly came over to see. He showed no reaction, but leaned in and squinted at the screen. "Brunei. He's a citizen of Brunei?"

"Yes," Van Pelt said. "And they are apparently very protective of their citizens against US "invasive tactics." They won't give any records up on principal. Homeland Security is pulling some strings for us, but it's not much."

He stood up straight. "I take it Cho is in San Francisco questioning him."

"Cho is bringing him back here," Lisbon said, bracing for… what, she wasn't sure.

"Why?" Jane asked, incredulous.

"For the same reasons you and Patricia are here. And to get to the bottom of this." She waved her hand out. "This is all seriously interfering with our case. On the off chance it's related, I'm covering all my bases. If it's not related, then he needs protection too."

Jane raised a hand up to rub his face, sighing heavily.

"Go back upstairs," Lisbon said. "I'll bring the laptop up when it's ready."

"When is Cho due back?" he asked.

"A few hours."

Jane turned and left wordlessly.

"What do you think, boss?" Rigsby asked.

Lisbon could only frown in response, shaking her head. "Van Pelt, he wants to see everything you've got on the Steiners. Put it all on one of the laptops."

"You got it," said Van Pelt.

"Anything happening on the Red John case?" she asked Rigsby.

"No. But we're all wondering if something is going to happen today."

"He cannot go to a daily killing. I'm sorry. He can't do that. Is there any evidence that others are acting on his behalf?"

"No. All the crime scenes are textbook Red John. Though Jane would be the one to see if something was off."

Lisbon shook her head again. The chances of getting Jane's help were nil. He couldn't even last five minutes in a room of just the photos. "Cho will go back on to Red John when he gets back. We have to be thorough in Jane's absence. Look specifically for discrepancies."

"On it," Ribsby said. "You might want to give Jane a heads up before Cho drags Young Mister Ryan in here, though."

"You think?" Lisbon said to the wry grins of Rigsby and Van Pelt.

When the laptop was ready, Lisbon went upstairs to deliver it to Jane, grabbing the Chinese with his name on it from the kitchen along the way. Patricia sat on the couch, looking anxious and tired and thoroughly bored. She stood and met Lisbon as she headed towards Jane's bedroom.

"He wouldn't speak to me," she said. "I knew he would react badly, that's why I didn't tell him. I wanted more time to explain, but…"

"He's angry. It's understandable," Lisbon said. Patricia's distress at this answer made Lisbon soften. She was mostly to blame for his anger, after all. "He'll get over it. Just give him some time and space."

Patricia nodded. "Okay. Okay."

Lisbon left her. She had no intention of telling Patricia that her second son would be there in the flesh in a couple hours. No, she was going to wait and see how the two interacted, if they betrayed anything in the surprise. She knocked on Jane's door and entered.

He was stretched out on the bed again, asleep. She went up to him and nudged him awake. He needed the sleep, but she knew he wanted the information more.

He roused. When he saw her, he sat up. In the span of less than two hours he had gone from clean and coifed back to being disheveled and seedy.

"It's all on the Z drive and bookmarked in the browser," she said putting the laptop on the nightstand.

He frowned. "I think I know what that means."

She held out the box of Chinese with chopsticks sticking out of the top fold. "You need to eat first."

He bristled. "You need to stop mothering me."

"You need to stop saying that. I'm treating you like I would any agent under my command. You're no good to the team if you can't function. I know you can go a long time without sleep, but you won't last long without sleep _and_ food. So eat. That's an order." She shoved the box into his hand. "If you have anything else you want to say to me, you should say it now."

He looked at her with surprise. "Why are you mad at me?"

"I'm not mad at you."

"You are clearly mad at me. I want to know why. I'm not the one who betrayed anyone."

"See, _that_. _That_ is why I'm mad." Lisbon hadn't even realized how mad she was until he said _betrayed_. "I did not betray you, not according to your rules. Withholding information is not a sin when you do it, but apparently you hold others to a higher standard. I call bullshit."

"I don't tell you things to protect you, to keep you out of trouble—"

"First of all, I really hate that. Who the hell are you to decide that? And second of all, I did it for the same reasons. Well, I did it to keep you from _causing_ trouble. I've got a job to do. But beyond all that, the bottom line is that you don't trust me. Not really. You apparently think I'm too weak to withstand the charm of your mother."

Jane opened his mouth to say something, but Lisbon held her hand up. "You know what? Save it. Why don't you just take a few minutes and think about your double standards and _then_ see if you really have anything to say to me." She turned and left. It took all of her willpower to keep from slamming the door.


	17. Chapter 17

Jane slapped the laptop shut. He'd spent the last couple hours reading everything Van Pelt had compiled on the Steiners and he had to say it was a puzzle. Interview after interview of his mother after finding some child in dire circumstances, biographies of both her and her husband, casual mentions of family back in the states (his, not hers) and not one mention of a child of their own. And she was right, she never once called herself a psychic, never came off as self-serving at all. Instead, again and again she'd say she was there only to help, that she was tuned into the frequency of the lost children and could not ignore it. And yet she never shared that she was raising a child of her own.

Homeland Security had sent over school rosters for all the American schools in the towns and cities where Patricia and Randall Steiner had lived in Brunei and Brazil and there was nothing until a high school for diplomat's kids in Sao Paulo. The alumni website had digital yearbooks loaded dating back to the 70's. Who had the time and money to do something like that for their alumni? And there was Ryan Steiner transforming from a scrawny camera-shy freshman to a cocky senior heading to Harvard in the course of four years. It was likely Patricia had homeschooled him until then. More than likely. At the school, he ran with princes and sons of foreign leaders. He dated their daughters. Their senior prom was held at a private resort in Rio de Janeiro. Their plans for the future sounded like textbook entitlement with a heady dose of privilege thrown in.

The kid had sailed through Harvard, summa cum laude, and gone on to receive a much-coveted scholarship for graduate school at Columbia for his research on the pharmacological effects of herbal medicines as an undergrad. He was apparently following in his father's footsteps, though his field was the lab as opposed to the jungle.

What was unnerving to Jane was how much Ryan looked like him. It was no wonder Patricia had said she would have recognized Jane even if she hadn't heard his name. Ryan had darker hair, more on the brown side of blond, but the face and smile were so similar Jane could have matched them with photos of him as a teenager if he had any. Alex had never been big on photos.

Cho was due anytime now, and Jane still hadn't figured out how he actually felt about having a brother. The concept was so strange. As a kid, as an only child, he had longed for one, but he had always wanted an older brother, someone to smooth the way for him, someone to make things easier for him with the other kids. Technically, Jane was old enough to be the kid's father. And really, he didn't even feel like they had shared a mother, because he had only had their mother for ten years and he couldn't remember any of it. They all may share the same DNA, but Jane had no desire to patch together a family just for the sake of it. Patricia and Ryan Steiner were nothing to him. Like distant cousins twice removed.

When Jane turned to the possibility of Patricia being a Red John disciple, he saw that the scenario was less likely. Not entirely impossible, but it was harder to imagine given that she was apparently a loving wife and mother during the time Red John might have cultivated her. And given those roles, and her role as a finder of lost children (that particular role was really starting to gnaw at him) she didn't fit the profile of the loner, the outsider, the psychologically damaged. When Jane thought she was just the wife of a largely absent husband, maybe. But now that he knew her life was fuller than that, not so much.

A knock on the door was soon followed by Rigsby identifying himself.

"Come in," Jane said. He was propped up against the headboard, his legs crossed before him, his vest unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up.

Rigsby stuck his head in. "Cho is five minutes out. Lisbon wanted you to know."

"Where is she?"

"Who? Lisbon or Patricia?"

"Both. Where are they?"

"They're out here. Patricia doesn't know he's coming."

"Okay."

Rigsby pulled out and closed the door. Jane stood and stretched. He had no idea what to expect, but he sure as hell was not going to miss the impending mother-son reunion.

He passed Patricia on the couch without acknowledging her. He headed towards Lisbon who was sitting on a counter stool at the kitchen island, her back to him. He came up beside her and leaned against the island facing her, folding his arms loosely in front of him.

She was reading a magazine and though he was in her field of vision, she ignored him. He waited. She flipped a page. He looked closer. She was reading a home and garden magazine, no, pretending to read.

"Hey," he said.

She looked up. "Oh, Jane," she said, feigning surprise.

"You thinking of taking up gardening?" he asked.

"Do you have something to say to me?" she said, cutting to the chase.

He sighed as he looked at her. "No. I don't," he said.

"Good." She went back to pretending to read the magazine.

He saw Patricia coming towards them. The woman really couldn't take a hint.

"Patrick," she said, when she was close enough, "I'd really like to explain some things."

"That's really not necessary," he said. He heard the front door open and close and Cho soon appeared with Ryan behind him.

Lisbon swiveled around on her stool at the same time Patricia turned to see what Jane was looking at.

"Mom!" Ryan exclaimed when he saw her. He went to her and hugged her tight.

"Ryan?" Patricia said, hugging him back. "What are you doing here?"

Ryan let her go and looked at Lisbon and then Jane. "What the hell is going on, Mom?" He said this while still looking at Jane and Patricia followed his gaze. Jane simply watched them.

"Ryan, it's okay," Patricia said, a look of knowing coming over her as she looked to Lisbon and then Jane.

"I tried calling you all day yesterday and this morning and then the police said you're in protective custody. That's not okay."

"What did you do?" Patricia asked him. "Did you call the police?" She was surprised.

"Yes," Ryan said, "And this is starting to freak me out. What is going on? What happened?" He was looking between Lisbon and Jane, anger starting to seep into his voice.

"I'm Agent Lisbon and your mother is in protective custody for a very good reason. We have reason to believe you may be in danger as well."

"What?" Ryan's alarm was increasing. "Why?"

"Ryan, it's okay," Patricia said.

"No, it's not. I just spent five hours with this guy—" Ryan jerked his thumb towards Cho, "who told me absolutely nothing about why you were here or why I had to drive down here. I want to know what the hell is going on. Right now."

"Do you hear that, Lisbon? He wants to know _right now_," Jane said, pleasantly.

"Jane, don't start," Lisbon said before saying to Ryan, "We're going to—"

Ryan turned to Jane. "Who the hell are you?" he asked, with an equal measure of anger and curiosity.

Jane could see he saw the resemblance and didn't know what to make of it.

"Ryan," Patricia said, "Please calm down."

And then it occurred to Jane. "He doesn't know. He doesn't know, does he?" He saw Patricia at a loss, guilt written all over her face.

"Doesn't know what?" Ryan demanded.

"Unbelievable," Jane said to Patricia. "You are really unbelievable. Does _anyone_ really know the truth about you?"

Tears filled her eyes and spilled over.

"Hey!" Ryan said to Jane.

Lisbon stood up. "Okay, that's enough. Everybody here needs to just calm down. Ryan, everything is going to be explained to you. Jane, you need to can it. And Patricia, you need to introduce your sons to each other."

"What?" Ryan said with disbelief. He looked between Jane and his mother.

Patricia composed herself, wiping away her tears and then taking Ryan's hand. "Ryan, I am sorry this is the way you are finding out, but it's true. This is your brother, Patrick."

Jane saw complete confusion on the young man's face. He had not a clue of his mother's past.

"What?" Ryan asked again, as if he heard it wrong.

"I – I married very young, before I met your father—"

"Well, actually, you got pregnant and then married," Jane offered with the sweetest venom possible. He had that buzzy pulse back and he didn't feel like making anything easier for the woman who was about to explain for the second time that day the existence of another son.

"Jane," Lisbon said with warning.

"I'm betting," Jane said with the same sweetness, "you had no idea your mother used to be a performer in the carnival. Madame Simone, Psychic Extraordinaire. You actually come from some quite renowned carnie stock, Ryan."

"Jane!" Lisbon had her hand on Jane's chest as if to hold him back.

"Hey!" Ryan said. He clearly heard the insult, though he also clearly didn't understand it.

Jane smiled at Ryan and Patricia. "Cheer up, you two. It's a family reunion."

Lisbon pushed Jane back. "That's enough, Jane!" She turned to Ryan, putting herself between him and Jane as Ryan began overboiling.

"What the hell is going on?!" Ryan yelled.

"It's your life imploding," Jane said, "thanks to your mother. I suggest you put your big boy pants on and start dealing with it."

Ryan was around Lisbon before Jane could even step back and soon the left side of Jane's face exploded with the pain and shock of Ryan's fist meeting it.

Jane was knocked back and he doubled over, his hand covering the side of his face that was now on fire.

"Hey!" Lisbon yelled as she and Cho went for Ryan, pulling him back from delivering another blow.

"Ryan, no!" Patricia yelled out.

Jane felt a wetness seeping out of his nose and he squeezed his eyes tight as he tried to recover from the blow.

"Tell him to shut up!" Ryan yelled and struggled as Lisbon and Cho held him back.

"Ryan!" Patricia said firmly as she went and stood in front of him. "Look at me, Ryan."

Ryan looked at his mother and in an instant he stopped struggling, his anger giving way to confusion. His looked at her searchingly. "What is going on, mom?" he asked, his voice wavering.

Jane was upright again holding his cheek. Blood had dripped down from his nose onto his shirt front. Lisbon let go of Ryan and looked at Jane, assessing the damage, while Cho kept a hold of Ryan's arms.

Jane watched as Patricia raised a hand to Ryan's shoulder and said, "It's going to be alright. Just calm down and I'll explain."

"Yes," Jane said, his own blood overboiling now. "Mom's going to explain everything, Ryan. And, really, consider yourself lucky, because if _this_ is how your life falls apart, in the scheme of things? This is _nothing_. This is-

Ryan was instantly struggling to get at Jane again and Cho had his arm around Ryan's neck in an instance.

Patricia turned on Jane, anger etched across her face, cutting him off. "Stop it, Patrick. Stop it right now." She said it in the firm and angry way of all mothers who have had quite enough of their child's bad behavior.

In that instant, all the air was sucked out of Jane's lungs, like a door had opened and everything whooshed out of it, like he'd been hit in the gut unexpectedly. He opened his mouth, trying to catch his breath, and she said it again: "_Stop it_." She turned back to Ryan to try and calm him.

Jane couldn't have spoken if he wanted to. He could hardly move. He wanted to leave, to go back to the safety of his bedroom, but his feet wouldn't follow his wishes.

"Jane?"

There was Lisbon coming to him, frowning with concern. There was wetness on his cheeks now and he struggled to turn away.

"Oh, Jane," Lisbon said. She took his hand and pulled him with her, taking him out of the kitchen, past the mess he had made for his mother. "It's okay, Jane," Lisbon said as she took him across the living room, "just come with me."

He struggled to breathe, the wetness dripping off his face, small gasps of breath squeezing out in their own rhythm. He held on tight to Lisbon, following her down the hallway, the sounds of Ryan and his mother diminishing behind him.


	18. Chapter 18

Lisbon got Jane back to the bedroom and seated on the bed. Tears streamed down his face as he cried, his short, breathy gasps for air barely audible. The blood from his nose still ran and Lisbon went to the bathroom to get a washcloth and warm it in the sink. When she returned, the gaspy breaths were coming faster. She went to wipe his face and nose with the cloth, pressing it down so he could feel the warmth. She'd done this so many times for her brothers, and that part of her just took over.

"It's okay, Jane. It's okay," she soothed, running her hand behind his head and neck, trying to rub out the pain he was obviously suffering.

Something had snapped and Lisbon had no idea what had set him off. One minute he was ripping into Patricia and Ryan and the next he was crying with some far away, unfocused look. He didn't seem to even know she was there. The cloth went cold and she went to rinse out the blood and warm it up again. When she came back, he was bordering on a full-blown panic attack, the air he was now desperately gasping for not quite making it to his lungs. He reached out and grabbed her, pulling her to him, pressing his face into her belly and wrapping his arms tight around her. The suddenness startled her, but she went with it, placing the cloth on the back of his neck with one hand and rubbing the back of his head with the other.

"Jane, it's okay. You're okay."

He wasn't calming down, in fact he was escalating, and Lisbon felt the distress of his breathing as he held her tightly. She felt heat emanating from him.

"Jane, you have to calm down so you can breathe."

He was entirely bereft of his faculties. She brought the washcloth back to his face and pressed it on his forehead, his good cheek, the front of his strained neck. The left side of his face was already bruised and swollen.

"Jane, slow your breathing down. Jane, look at me," she said. She turned his face up to her, but he was too desperate for air. Alarmed, she put her hands against his shoulders and pushed him away. "Lie down, Jane. Go on, lie down." She helped him get his feet up and pushed him over and climbed on the bed after him. He grabbed on to her again, turning onto his side, wrapping his arms around her, and burying his face into her neck, like he was hanging on to a life preserver out at sea.

She held onto him and starting talking. She talked in the hypnotic way he did when he was planting a suggestion into some unsuspecting suspect. She talked calmly and softly and with a soothing cadence. She said, "You're on the couch now, Jane. You're on my couch back at my office and you're falling asleep. You can hear me typing on the computer and the sounds of phones ringing and doors opening and closing. And Rigsby is saying something only Rigsby would say to Cho. You can feel yourself falling asleep. Your breathing is getting slower and deeper. Can you feel that, Jane?"

She felt him quieting, like she was getting through and he was trying to listen. She kept talking, realizing that he couldn't hear her if he kept gasping and he was trying to listen by not gasping. "We're all just working a case the cop way and you're so bored it's putting you to sleep. You feel your chest rising and falling slowly and regularly."

She felt him catch a good breath and tears trickling down her neck. He was still tense and gasping, but less so.

"And I'm wasting my time filling out form after form because you were so bored you tweaked somebody's nose or insulted a Senator."

He was back to just crying now and Lisbon started rubbing his arm and shoulder, just back and forth, back and forth. She brought her hand up to his face buried in her neck and hair and gently rubbed the tears away with her thumb, careful to go lightly over the swollen tissue.

"You know, just another day at the office," she said. He caught another good breath and she felt his body relaxing. "You're wondering how I can stand doing all that mind-numbing paperwork, and I'm wondering how I'm going to keep my job if you keep tweaking noses and insulting Senators."

He caught another good breath and squeezed her and she smiled, knowing he was coming back. She was rubbing his head now, running her fingers through his hair, the way she'd always done for her brothers when they'd come to her upset about some small thing and end up crying fiercely over the loss of their mother. He relaxed more and his breathing steadied.

"Did you remember something?" she asked. She felt him nod against her neck. "Was it bad?" She couldn't help asking. She wasn't sure he would want to talk now, or even later, but she thought it best to at least try. He kept far too much to himself.

Jane moved his head so he was less buried and said, "No." He tightened his grip on her. He wasn't crying anymore.

"Okay," she said.

Jane took a breath. "I remembered she used to say that to me when she got mad. I could see her saying that to me—_Stop it, Patrick. Stop it_. I hated it when she got mad at me." He buried his face in her again.

"Oh, Jane," Lisbon sighed, rubbing her hand on his head rhythmically. She held him like that until his breathing was normal again and all the tension had left him.

After a while, he moved his head again to talk so he wouldn't be muffled. "I know why I can't remember her," he said.

"Really?" Lisbon asked.

He nodded.

"Why?"

"When she said that, out there, I remembered her saying that to me as a kid. I could see her saying it, and then I remembered doing something after she was gone. It was like a door opening up and I could see myself doing this thing and knowing why I did it. First to remember her. Then to forget her." He shifted and pushed his face down into the bed.

Lisbon waited for him.

He pulled her tighter to him. "When my dad told me she was gone and wasn't coming back, I started crying, and he told me to get it all out, because it was going to be the last time I cried for her. He was so angry. He called her…" He was on the verge of tears but he pushed himself on. "He called her names and threw everything out of hers. He wouldn't let me keep anything. He threw out the photos and clothes and jewelry. Her makeup. Everything. And everybody quit talking about her. It was like she had never existed. If he found me crying, he'd yell at me to stop it. He threatened to hit me or expose me to the kids as a baby. He said men don't cry." Jane let got a breathy laugh at the joke of such of a statement.

"So when he wasn't around, I started doing this thing. I built a room just for her in the memory palace and I filled it with every memory I could think of, every way she looked—waking up or being on stage or visiting with friends or reading me a book or laughing—everything. And I stuffed it in this big room so I could go there and be with her and be whatever I wanted without getting yelled at or threatened. At first, it was comforting. I went there a lot. But then, I don't know, then it wasn't. I started thinking about what she was doing instead of being with me and I started getting angry. I started believing what my dad had said, about why she left. I always thought she would come back, that she'd miss me too much and just come back. And one day I just realized she wasn't coming back. She obviously didn't _want_ to come back. So I locked the door to her room. I locked it and I never went back," he said. He was weeping now and burrowing his face down between Lisbon's neck and the pillow.

Lisbon held on to him for the longest time, long enough for the room to darken in the night. She let him cry all the tears he wanted without saying a word, because it was not lost on her that Jane was, for the first time, able to grieve for his mother with the help of someone who cared about him, able to grieve completely without fear of discovery. She didn't know how much time passed, but she was thankful that the team had not come up and disturbed them. She wondered how things were going with Ryan and Patricia, and she needed to go check on the team. She just didn't want to end this too early for Jane.

He still held onto her tightly, but he was obviously spent and drifting towards sleep. When Lisbon shifted to start disengaging, he roused and pulled her tighter.

"Jane," she said softly, "I'm gonna have to go check on the team."

"Will you come back?" he asked.

She hesitated. They were getting nowhere on Red John and there was still the puzzle of Patricia and Ryan.

"Please, Lisbon. I don't want to be alone tonight," he said. He still had his face pushed into the bed, his eyes closed, the bruise from Ryan's punch all purple and angry.

He looked and sounded so… fragile. And small. Like the little kid he was when he made the decision to lock his mother out of his heart and mind. Just the sound of his voice let Lisbon know that he should not be left alone. Not tonight. "Okay," she said. "I'll go check on the team and I'll be right back. Okay?"

"Thanks," Jane said.

He let her loose and she slipped out the bed and room quietly, hoping he was spent enough to finally get real sleep. The hallway was dark except for the light coming under the door of Patricia's bedroom. Lisbon heard the low murmur of Patricia's voice as she passed and she assumed Ryan was with her. Downstairs Rigsby and Cho were holding down the fort, Van Pelt in the other room taking the first sleep shift.

"Anything new?" she asked, coming over to them at the computers.

"Nothing," Rigsby said.

"What happened to Jane?" Cho asked. "He alright?

"He's recovered some of his memory. Not a lot, but he's not doing well. At all. I'm going to stay with him tonight, but I wanted to see how you all were doing."

"We're good," Cho said. "Don't worry about us."

"Alright," Lisbon said. "Come and get me if anything pops. But do it quietly. I think Jane's finally going to get some sleep tonight."

"Okay, boss," Rigsby and Cho said in unison.

She grabbed a handful of the case files on the pool table on her way. She was at the door when Rigsby called out, "Hey, boss?"

"Yeah."

"Tell Jane…"

She waited as Rigsby struggled to find the words. He and Cho were obviously concerned, and Rigsby was sweet to try and convey that.

"I will," she said. She pressed her lips together into a small smile and Rigsby exhaled, letting go of the struggle.

"Thanks," he said.

When she got back to Jane, she took his shoes and vest off and made him get under the covers. She planned to sit in the cushioned chair near the window and reading lamp and read the case files she'd brought with her, but he pulled her into the bed with him, making it clear what he had meant by not wanting to be alone. He didn't say anything, but he was clearly insistent, like she had no other option. She didn't resist. She was tired, he needed the comfort. She'd had only a 2-hour cat nap in the last 48 hours, and she decided to catch a few winks until Jane feel asleep and then she'd hit the case files. She slipped her shoes and jacket off and settled into his needy embrace. Under any other circumstance, the whole scenario she found herself in at that moment would have been odd, but knowing what she did, she knew it was right thing, the compassionate thing to do.

She turned onto her side and he moved up against her, looping his arm around her waist and nuzzling his nose into the back of her neck. He let go a big sigh and pulled her back into his chest. It was not unpleasant. At all. It occurred to her that she had not been in this kind of embrace for some time, and she drifted off to sleep trying to recall when, exactly, the last time she had a man holding her so insistently against him.

She woke with somewhat of the same thought, but the man holding her was more insistent. It took her a little bit to come to consciousness, but she soon realized that what had awakened her was Jane's insistence in the form of a morning surprise being pressed against her backside. His hand had moved up from her waist to cup her breast and he was sleepily caressing her and pushing himself against her. She froze in alarm, but it soon became clear that he was doing it unconsciously. Still asleep, he was merely responding to the warm body in his arms.

Lisbon made her move to separate. It was all understandable. As far as she knew, Jane had only been with Lorelei since his wife, and it hadn't even been a real "thing." Lisbon totally understood needs. She took his hand off her breast and moved away from the morning surprise, but Jane pulled her back. Insistently. She tried again, and again Jane tightened himself around her. Finally, she gave up doing it the quiet way.

"Jane," she whispered loudly.

Nothing. He held her tight and didn't stir.

"Jane!" she said louder.

Still nothing.

"Jane!" she said, annoyed now, and pushed back on him with her shoulder to rouse him.

It worked. He stirred and mumbled, so she pushed back with her shoulder again and his hand found her breast and pulled her in again.

"Jane!" she said and this time he answered with a muffled sleepiness.

"What?"

"Wake up, Jane," she said.

And he did. When he came to, he said "Oh" and dropped his hand down to her waist and pushed her off of him and his insistence. He sighed sleepily.

She scooted away and turned on her back, looking over at him. He opened his eyes and looked at her. In the dim light she could see the swelling on his cheek was worse. She reached out to turn his chin so she could see it better. He reached up and took her hand and brought it down, watching her.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

He didn't answer, but kept watching her. He had a look she couldn't quite identify. Maybe it was the dark or the difference between them now after the night before, she wasn't sure. But when he reached up and put his hand on her cheek, caressing her with his thumb and moving in close, she realized what it was: pure need. Or want. Or both. He was kissing her before she could sort it all out, soft, sweet, slow kisses, the kind that made you want to stay in bed all day to figure out. When he pulled back to look at her she came back to herself.

"What are you doing, Jane?" This could really get out of hand. Fast.

"I'm kissing you," he said.

"Why?"

"Because I want to." He moved in to kiss her again, hesitant, his eyes open, watching her like he was unsure what she would do. His lips were warm and not insistent. Instead, they were inviting her to take her time, get to know them. His hand wandered slowly but firmly over her hip, up her waistline and over her ribs, stopping just short of the breast he had just had ownership of earlier.

"Jane," she said a little breathless, holding him off. "This isn't … this isn't a good idea."

He rested his forehead on hers, his breathing matching hers. "I just want to feel good, Lisbon," he said. "And you feel so good to me right now. You feel so good." He was kissing her again, his hand roaming freely over her body, going to places he really didn't have permission to venture to, but Lisbon was too busy responding to his touch. Dear God, she was responding like a woman who had her own needs and wants to attend to. When he pulled her back into his arms she went willingly, she went with open eyes and an open heart.

* * *

_The rest of this chapter is rated M and is posted in the M section as a separate story here: s/8966456/1/Women-and-Children-First-Mature-Chapters-Only. For those of you who don't care for M stories, the storyline will continue here as if the explicit encounter happened off screen. :) _


	19. Chapter 19

_The full M version of this chapter is published over in the M section here: s/8966456/2/Women-and-Children-First-Mature-Chapters-Only. This version is adult in content, but not explicit._

* * *

Jane stumbled over a jumble of thoughts as he held Lisbon tight to him and began sinking into sleep.

First, that had all happened incredibly fast. He'd be a bit embarrassed if not for how incredibly responsive Lisbon had been and how obviously satisfied she was now in his arms. Second, and this one he said out loud, whispering it in Lisbon's ear the moment he thought of it: "No one died today."

He hadn't even realized how much he had dreaded another woman and child being murdered until that moment, and coming on the heels of the sexual release he just experienced, Jane hadn't felt this good since he couldn't remember when.

But then he remembered Lorelei, the photos of her pale and bloated face, the bloodied scars, and his part in it. And then Lisbon was stirring in his arms and he vowed to stop thinking again and just be in this wonderful moment. Then he started tripping over Lisbon's uneasiness, the rising tension in her body, and he whispered: "Don't regret this, Lisbon."

"I don't," she whispered back, relaxing slightly.

He kissed her below her ear and was moving more kisses down her neck when she startled, her whole body jerking to attention.

"The door is unlocked," she said.

"So," he said, kissing her shoulder.

"So," she said, sitting up. "I told the guys to come and get me if something happened." She got up and went to the door and locked it.

When she came back, Jane appreciated the sight of her, the nakedness of her. She stood at the bed looking at him and he instantly realized she was assessing the situation from the point of view of the team. What would they think if they had knocked and entered, never assuming what had just happened? She eyed her clothes on the floor and Jane reached out and took a hold of her forearm, making her look at him.

"Something happened," he said. "But it's just between us." She looked a little panicked, like a bird ready to take flight. He pulled her in. "Come here," he whispered.

Lisbon sat on the bed.

"You need to sleep too," he said. He hooked her with his arm and pulled her over to him—there was hardly anything to her-he really didn't know how she tackled big, beefy thugs.

"I need to stay focused," she said sliding down into his arms.

"Sleep helps that. Just text Cho and tell him you're going to sleep."

"Are _you_ going to sleep?"

"Yes, if you stay." He kissed her on her cheek, below her ear, on her neck.

"Jane."

"I know I will if you stay. If you go, I don't know."

"Jane."

Jane nuzzled his face against hers. "I'm being honest."

Lisbon sighed. "Okay," she said and sat up and searched for her phone in her clothes. Jane kept a hand on her hip as she found it and texted Cho. She slipped back under the covers with him and waited for a reply. When it came, she read it, responded, and then tossed the phone back onto her pile of clothes.

He pulled her back up against him and closed his eyes. He was beyond tired. He felt Lisbon relaxing into him and the bed. He emptied his mind of everything but the softness of Lisbon's skin, the sound of her breathing, the heady smell of her sex.

When Jane woke a few hours later, Lisbon was still tucked up against him. He had slept hard and his body was stiff from it. He shifted to stretch his legs and straighten his back and Lisbon stirred. He went back to spooning her, his hand roaming slowly over her in a wide circuit. Half way through the first circuit his own arousal had fully burgeoned and half through the second Lisbon was responding with a sleepy hum. On the third circuit she was turning around to face him and start her own roaming. She blinked her eyes awake and he met her with a kiss that deepened quickly. He suddenly could not get enough of her. Last night another door had opened and Jane was flooded with a desire he had kept locked away for almost eleven years. He gasped at the force of it, breaking the kiss to catch his breath. Like an animal too longed denied sustenance, his desire verged on feral desperation.

He saw concern in her face and she reached up and ran her thumb over his jaw.

"I feel like I might hurt you," he whispered between heavy breaths. He gripped her hip tightly, more to still himself than her.

Her concern moved to understanding and she ran her hand behind his head and pulled him firmly to her. "You won't," she said. She kissed him hard and deep then and lifted her leg over his hip, giving him full permission to take her.

As the last remnants of tension left his body, Jane was overcome with emotion. Tears sprang to his eyes and he began to weep. He wept because he had thought this part of his life was over, had been murdered along with Angela. He wept thinking that he didn't deserve this pleasure, didn't deserve Teresa's affections. He'd bring her nothing but sorrow and eventual madness or death.

She started shushing him, lifting her head up to kiss his lips, his cheeks, wiping away his tears.

"Nobody can know about this," he said, his fear rising instantly. "If Red John finds out—"

She shushed him again. "Don't do that," she said. "Don't let him kill every happiness of yours." She kept delivering kisses on his face. "Don't give him that power," she said.

He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight. She was right. She was absolutely right. He held onto her suggestion and emptied his mind of everything except for how incredibly right she felt in his arms. She hugged him back, her hand rubbing a small circle between his shoulder blades. When he had calmed down, she slowly pulled her head back to look at him. Again, she put her hand to his face and brushed away the tears with her thumb.

He tried to smile. "Sorry I'm such a mess," he said.

She smiled back, a sweet smile. "Yeah, well, you've always been my mess to take care of, so, you know." She shrugged _no big deal_.

He let a breathy laugh loose.

"You're dealing with a lot, Jane. Cut yourself some slack."

He closed his eyes. "I'm not really dealing with anything," he said. He opened them and looked at her. "I don't want to deal with any of it."

"I know."

"This helps. A lot."

"I know."

"It's been awhile."

She pressed her lips together and a corner of her mouth lifted up.

"I mean, since I've been with someone I cared about. I mean, that was Angela."

"I know. You don't have to explain."

"But I do. I mean, I never thought I'd feel this way again and—"

"It's okay, Jane. "

"—and I. No. Let me finish. I don't want you to think I'm just looking for something to help me get through the night."

"This was completely unexpected," she said. "But not unwelcomed. It's been awhile for me too." She smiled a small smile.

"I know."

Her brows furrowed briefly. "What do you mean?"

"I know that it's been awhile."

"No you don't."

"Yes, I do. I can always tell when you've been with someone. For a while there, it was a regular cycle. You could go without for no more than 7 weeks, but it's been much longer lately. Much."

Her eyes narrowed at him.

"I'm not judging you," he said. "It's not unlike me knowing when it's that time of the month for you. Or that you're on the pill. It's just a cyclical change in your body."

"You do not know my cycle," she said nonplussed.

"Okay." He could see she was getting edgy.

"I don't think I like you knowing that stuff about me without my knowledge. In fact, I _know_ I don't like it."

"Okay."

"How on earth could you have known I was on the pill?"

"You know, this is not exactly the kind of pillow talk one would expect after what we just did."

"Well, this whole thing was unexpected, so I would say this is perfectly normal pillow talk given the situation. How did you know?"

"Are you going to punch me if I tell you the truth?"

She did something between a sigh and a scoff. "Jane, I will forever reserve the right to punch you when you deserve it."

He couldn't help but smile at her honesty. "Okay: one. Your cycle is very low key, with only a slight fluctuation from normal, which suggests the use of the pill. Two. You would never risk pregnancy with someone you had only casual sex with, and you have had only casual sex for as long as I've known you. It's pretty obvious you're on the pill. I would guess that you only use a condom with men you are not certain don't have STDs."

"Jesus, Jane. For someone who preserves his own privacy so carefully, you sure do invade others," she said frowning.

"I did not seek this information out. I just know it. There's a difference. I know a lot of things I'd rather not know."

She studied him before relenting. "Fair enough."

He leaned in and kissed her softly and then, rubbing her nose with his, said, "And I know a lot more about you then I used to."

She very nearly purred in response which made him smile at learning how to make her very nearly purr. He rolled onto his back and pulled her with him so her head rested on his chest, her leg splaying over his. He thought he'd like to learn a lot more about how to make sounds like that come out of Agent Teresa Lisbon.


	20. Chapter 20

_This chapter is adult in content, but the full M version is over in the M section here: s/8966456/3/Women-and-Children-First-Mature-Chapters-Only._

* * *

Lisbon woke to the day dawning outside, the dark bedroom slowly growing less dim, more visible. Still in Jane's arms, she felt less insulated from the rest of the world. Outside the bedroom door was a whole lot of mess she and Jane would eventually have to confront and she relished the sweetness of waking up so melded to a warm, masculine body. It had been too long. That it was Jane's body she was so melded to was a little disconcerting. She had decided long ago that this would never happen, and while she had wondered what it would be like—of course she had wondered—the reality was actually much better than she had expected. He was so … attentive. He had been an emotional wreck and still been so… attentive. Lisbon couldn't think of a moment he hadn't been touching her since they came into the bedroom, save for when she went to the bathroom or downstairs to check on the team.

His hand slid down her arm and he stirred awake. She lifted her head off his chest and pulled back to look at him. He blinked his eyes open.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey." He was groggy and his face was puffy from sleep and the angry welt on his cheek looked even angrier than the night before.

"You slept again."

"Yes."

"That's good."

He rolled onto his side to face her, bringing his hand up to touch her, drawing his fingers down her jawline, her neck, across her shoulder. "Hmmm."

She grinned.

"And what is so amusing?" he asked playfully.

"I just never thought you'd be so touchy-feely."

"So you've _thought_ about this. Hmmm."

"Oh, come on. So have you."

He smiled. "What, exactly, were you expecting?"

"I don't know. More suave. More lothario-like."

He frowned and grinned at the same time. "Why would you think that?"

"Your skills give you a distinct advantage. Plus, I've seen you being that way, like a little window on your past."

"My skills, huh?" He grinned widely. Then, "And exactly when did you see me?"

"During that fugue state. You grabbed my ass and made it quite clear you'd totally do me if I was game."

Jane chuckled. His fingers made their way down her arm and hip and around to grab her ass. "I wasn't really like that," he said. He leaned in and kissed her.

"Right."

"No, really," he said, his fingers finding their way back up her hip, her arm, her neck.

Lisbon shivered at the light touching. "Seriously, Jane. Spare me."

"I am serious." He looked at her with all seriousness.

"I'm not judging," she said, softly echoing his words from before.

"I married when I was 17. I was faithful."

Lisbon took in this information like it was a loaded gun, like it was something that could cause some harm if it wasn't handled carefully. She hadn't really thought his timeline through.

His fingers stopped their exploration. "Why does that freak you out?" he asked.

Lisbon couldn't answer. She was too busy climbing over the facts of his statement.

"What?" he asked.

"That means…" she said. She really couldn't wrap her mind around it. "I'm number … 3?"

"Oh," Jane said.

"And Lorelei…. She was …"

Jane's face darkened.

"…only your second lover," Lisbon said. She really couldn't imagine. Lovers counted on one hand. _Less_ than one hand.

"Oh," he said.

"Yeah," Lisbon said, trying to hold off on completely freaking out and losing. She avoided his eyes, not wanting him to see her … confusion… fear… abject terror.

"And you're thinking of what happened to them," he said.

"Oh, god, Jane. No. I wasn't thinking of that at all," she said.

"Then what?" He was reading her face but looked confused.

"No, it was nothing."

"Clearly it is more than nothing. Clearly it is very much _something_."

"No. Well. I don't know. It's just … it feels like a lot of … I don't know… responsibility."

Jane frowned and grinned at the same time again. "What?" he said skeptically. And then he saw something that caused his face to brighten. He smiled. "I'm not a teenager, Lisbon. I may not have had a slew of lovers, but that doesn't mean I don't know my way around a woman's body or her mind. You're confusing quantity with quality or quantity with maturity. Or both."

"Okay," Lisbon said uncertainly.

Jane narrowed his eyes at her. "You're afraid of this. With me."

"No," she scoffed.

"And a little ashamed."

"No, I am not," she said, suddenly realizing what it would be like to be in a relationship with Patrick Jane. Now that he had said it, she realized she _was_ a little afraid and ashamed. The bastard.

He smiled at her. "Don't worry, Teresa, I'm not going to start rattling your commitment phobia."

"I do not have a commitment phobia," she protested. "I have an aversion to what men expect from me in a committed relationship."

"Well, that's true. The men you've chosen would never compromise or sacrifice equitably. That is something to be cautious of, but you shouldn't be ashamed at all the test driving. It's not your fault there are so few men out there willing to let you be who you are."

"Right."

"But that doesn't explain why you're afraid to be my number 3."

"I—"

He came in and kissed her check. "And you are afraid." He kissed her earlobe. "Of commitment." He ran his tongue down her jawline. "But I'm not asking you to commit to anything." He shifted so he was propped on his elbow, head bending to kiss her chest, her breast. "Except maybe your next orgasm." His lips were moving down her body, soft, wet kisses that contradicted the alarmingly strong pleasure signals being sent to her brain.

She gasped as he went lower, clearly intent on wanting her to commit to this moment. And she did. Very much so.

* * *

"I think you've ruined me for the day," she said later, post commitment. Her recovery was clearly going to take awhile.

"Mmm," he said, kissing her lightly on the lips, "more like _readied_ you."

"I do have to get up," she said, still breathless. "But I don't think I can walk, let alone think straight."

Jane was beaming now.

"Okay, that's a little too bright for the morning," she said, bringing her hand up to his face.

"So, you're saying I've made you senseless," he said.

"I would say that is an accurate description of what transpired here."

"Oh, getting all cop on me now. I like that."

She turned to him. "I do have to go be a cop," she said. "The team is probably wondering…"

"Right." He draped his hand on her hip. "But not right away."

"Seriously, I don't think I could walk right now."

"Hmmm." He pulled her to him to cuddle.

"God, Jane," Lisbon said. "This is such a bad idea."

"I know, Lisbon," he said, kissing the top of her head and closing his eyes. "It's a terrible, horrible idea."


	21. Chapter 21

_AN: Thanks everyone for your reviews. Much appreciated. Sorry for the delay on this one... lots of work and home stuff and then it turned out to be a long one. Hope you like. :)_

* * *

Jane woke to Lisbon saying, "I have to go." He pulled her tighter instinctively.

"Jane," Lisbon said. "I really have to go."

He opened his eyes. The room was brighter, the day already started. "I know," he said. He didn't want to let her go, didn't want to start the day, this day in particular, but once he loosened his arm around her, she slipped out and headed for the bathroom. Soon he heard the toilet and then faucet water running and when Lisbon returned, she looked fairly freshened up and chilled. She came and slipped back under the covers, pressing up against him for his warmth. He ran his hand up her arm.

"I'm just going to get warmed up, then I have to go," she said. "What are you going to do?"

"Did Rigsby ever go to the library?"

"Jane."

"If not, can you send Cho?"

"Jane, you can't just hole up in here and ignore everything."

"Why not? I didn't ask for those people to show up in my life."

"No. But they are here." She reached up and touched his bruised cheek gingerly. "Can I say something?"

He sighed.

"I've seen you provoke people for all sorts of reasons, but it's usually always a means to an end. Last night you were intentionally cruel to Ryan as a way to be cruel to Patricia."

Jane really didn't want to get into this. Ryan was someone else he was putting onto his _Not Thinking About_ list.

"Jane?"

"What?"

"Leave him alone. He's an innocent."

"He's 26 years old."

"He's no match for you. You could cause unnecessary damage."

A protest was bubbling up, but before he could formulate it, Lisbon said, "Patricia has some explaining to do, but that boy has nothing to do with your legitimate anger at your mother. And you are a little bit jealous of him. That's not a good mix of emotion for anyone, but in your hands—"

"I'm not jealous," Jane said. "I just didn't like his attitude." What 26-year-old walks into a safe house full of CBI agents and starts demanding to know what is going on? Lisbon looked at him with a half-smile-half pitying and half disbelief. He frowned at her. "I'm not jealous."

She lifted up onto her elbow and leaned in to kiss him. That was more like it. He trailed his fingers up her arm to her neck and pulled her in for a deeper kiss. She let him, but soon pulled back. "I have to go."

"Will you come back tonight?"

He saw her thinking through his question and an ache of sorrow passed through him. A door had opened and he did not want to close it again.

"I don't know, Jane. I don't know how that is going to look to the team."

"Right."

She sat up and reached down for her clothes. "Come have breakfast with me," she said.

"I'd rather take a shower with you."

She stood and pulled her panties on. "Yeah, I am not going down to the team freshly showered and wearing the same clothes as yesterday."

"So you'd rather just go down there smelling like me and sex," he said smiling.

She was slipping her arms into her bra. "You're not going to play any games about this, Jane, are you?"

"No, of course not. I, more than anyone, know how serious this is." He had held off on thinking through the possible consequence of their night together, but now the gravity of it hit him with a sickening force.

She hooked her bra behind her and searched his face. "I've been thinking about that." She sat down and took his hand. "Red John has already asked you to bring my head on a platter. I don't think he'd be happy just killing me at this point. He wants you to do it."

"I don't think we can guess what Red John wants at this point. He's taken a serious turn." The wild fear he had felt the night before returned. "No one can know that we're … that _we've_ taken a turn."

"We're in a house with three detectives and a pretty good psychic," Lisbon said.

"She's not a psychic."

"Still, she's pretty good. But, Jane, we don't even know what this is." She tightened her hold on his hand. "And considering the circumstances, this really is not a good time to figure something like that out."

"I'm not asking for us to figure anything out about this. I'm just asking you to come back tonight."

"Red John—"

"I don't want to talk about Red John," Jane said in a rush. "Not here. Not like this. I don't want him here between us."

Lisbon closed her mouth and looked at him. He saw her concern and hated it. "Okay," she said. She leaned over and kissed him again. She sat back up. "Come have breakfast with me. I don't know how much I'm going to see you today."

"I know what you're trying to do."

"What?"

"You're just trying to get me out there."

"Well, you do have to eat." She stood and pulled her pants on. "And I don't want to just leave you in here. But if you're coming out with me, you really should wash your face. You still smell strongly of me."

She smiled sweetly at him and it pulled a smile out of him.

"I will only want to touch you the whole time," he said.

"So it will be good practice in restraint." She smiled sweetly again as she pulled on her blouse and began buttoning. "Come on, it'll be nice. I'll make eggs."

Jane saw she had his blood on her shirt. He sat up. "I'll make the eggs. You keep Ryan off of me."

Lisbon left to check-in with the team while Jane got dressed. He pulled on his pants from the day before and a fresh linen shirt and left it at that. He didn't feel like getting all buttoned up. He really just wanted to sleep all day, and he thought he could actually pull it off without any pills. He'd get some food, hang out with Lisbon, avoid Patricia and Ryan and then come back to sleep. And he'd make sure Cho knew what to look for at the library. The downside of not thinking was excruciating boredom.

Once dressed, he lounged on the bed to wait for Lisbon. He wasn't about to go out there alone, and he knew she'd come looking for him when she got back upstairs.

Which she did. She opened the door without knocking and said, "Are you coming or what?"

Jane stood up and smiled. "Yes," he said walking to her.

She smiled disapprovingly while shaking her head. "You're a coward," she whispered when he was close enough.

"Meh," he said and reached out to slide his hand down her waist to her hip. He smelled scented lotion, or scented soap. "I can still smell me," he whispered back.

She swatted him away. "No games, Jane. I'm serious."

"I know. So how did the team take you spending the night with me?" he asked.

"They were fine. They're worried about you." She opened the door wider for him to pass through.

"Agents first," he said, smiling.

"Such the gentleman," she said, which made him smile wider.

He followed her down the hallway. "You seem to be walking just fine," he mused, which made Lisbon stop and turn on him.

"I mean it, Jane," she said.

He saw the fear and uncertainty that lay just beneath her toughness and he was immediately sorry. "I know," he said. "I know."

She turned back and he followed her out into the living room. Ahead he saw Patricia sitting at the kitchen island. When they arrived, Jane busied himself with the tea kettle and ignored her "Good morning."

"Good morning," Lisbon said. She came over and poured herself a cup of coffee before going over to sit opposite of Patricia at the island. "How is Ryan doing?" she asked.

"He's… better. He's still sleeping. We were up quite late."

"Look, I think you understand why we brought him here without informing you," Lisbon said.

"You don't trust me," Patricia said.

Jane put the kettle on to boil and turned to lean against the stove, arms folded in front of him.

"That's a serious withholding of information, especially considering the circumstances," Lisbon said.

"Yes, and I think you understand why I withheld it, considering the circumstances. And I would imagine by now you know that there are others, whole countries, in fact, that do not know my husband and I have a son." Patricia looked at Jane. "I am sorry Ryan hit you, Patrick. That is not normal behavior for him."

Jane raised his eyebrows to show how unimpressed he was with this information.

"Are you okay?" she asked. She clearly meant more than his bruised face, but Jane didn't answer.

"Ryan was provoked," Lisbon said. "That's not going to happen again, right Jane?"

Jane looked at her and he recognized the familiar refrain—Lisbon asking him to behave, to hold himself accountable, to play by the rules, play nice—but this time he saw something else in her face, an uncertainty that implied disappointment. He realized things were going to change now between them because this time he heard an even older refrain, and with it came an old pull he hadn't felt since Angela. For the first time in over a decade he found himself wanting to be the person someone else thought he was, someone better, not the man he knew himself to be. He couldn't answer her, because to acknowledge his acquiescence to Lisbon suddenly seemed a little bit like cheating on Angela.

"Right Jane?" Lisbon asked in her I _know you can hear me so why aren't you answering_ tone.

His throat was closing up, but then he heard Patricia say, "Oh," in a way that made him turn to look at her. He saw her look of understanding, like she'd just seen something that surprised her, that she wasn't expecting, but that suddenly made sense.

"Oh, _what_?" he asked with a venom that sprang up immediately.

She was startled by his sudden attention.

"Oh, _what_?" he asked again, an angry heat rising up.

"I—" Patricia looked between Jane and Lisbon with confusion and stammered, "Nothing—"

"You don't know anything. Stop pretending that you do," he said.

"All right," Lisbon interjected, spreading her hands out before her. "I don't know what in the hell just happened but I'm going to be the one asking the questions," she said. "Jane, please."

Jane pushed off the stove and turned to start making breakfast. He found a skillet and set it on the stovetop.

Lisbon asked Patricia, "Can you tell me why you would keep your son a secret? Not just from us, I mean."

In the fridge, Jane found the makings for a cheese omelette and he pulled them all out and placed them on the counter.

"I know it must seem odd," she said. "You likely know that Ryan is not a U.S. citizen."

"Yes. That is very odd," Lisbon said.

"But it was necessary, or so we thought at the time. You see, Ryan was born into an environment of his parent's fears. I never planned to marry or have another child. Not after what I had been through. I could not imagine opening myself up to something that had proven so risky, so painful."

Jane found a bowl and began cracking eggs into it.

"But I met my husband a few years after I landed in Palo Alto. He was starting his doctorate at Stanford and he would camp out with his books and notes at the diner I was working at. My husband comes from a traditionally wealthy family of doctors, lawyers, and judges. The women play tennis and tend to the children with the help of nannies and prestigious schools. He had a very protected upbringing. When he became interested in me, I tried to dissuade him, but he was persistent. It was an odd and lengthy courtship, if you can even call it that. It all happened mostly during my shift hours." She gave a breathy laugh. "He was shocked by my past, and I did tell him everything. Really, I told him hoping it would cause him to lose interest, but it only made him become protective."

Jane added oil to the hot skillet and then whisked the eggs and milk.

"By the time he finished his dissertation a few years later, I was in love with him. He was steadfast and honest and he was, for whatever reason, in love with me. When it became clear he would be leaving the country and making a career of field work, he asked me marry him and come with him. By then I couldn't imagine not seeing him every day."

Rigsby appeared with a coffee mug in hand and seeing Jane at the stove he came over to stand next to Jane and peer down into the bowl.

"Hey," he said to Jane. "You doing okay?"

"Yes," Jane said and he reached to add more eggs.

"Thanks, man," Rigsby said and went to fill his mug at the coffeemaker.

Patricia was still talking and while Jane pretended disinterest, he was anything but. The story she told was the bridge over the wide chasm between the carney world and the one she now inhabited.

Jane whisked the extra eggs in and then poured them into the hot skillet, adding a handful of shredded cheese. Rigsby came over and leaned on the counter next to Jane, nibbling on the cheese.

"We had been in Kalimantan only a few months before a kidnapping of an American infant rocked the expatriate community there. The poverty in Indonesia is staggering and the expatriates who are there working seem wealthy in comparison to the natives, but they are often researchers like my husband or middle management of international non-profits. The ransom was too high and the U.S. government was no help. Two months later the baby was delivered dead to her parents with obvious signs of malnourishment. The cause of death was shaken baby syndrome."

Jane turned and leaned on the stove again, watching her.

She shifted uncomfortably on the counter stool. "It was upsetting to the entire community, but for me, it was traumatizing. It brought back all the memories of how I lost… how I lost you." She looked up at him briefly and he caught a fleeting glimpse of the depth of her pain. She quickly looked away with something very close to shame flickering across her face. "And how I lived after."

Rigsby shifted awkwardly next to Jane.

"You could say I fell apart, but it was worse than the first time. Randall had to take time off from his work and he very nearly moved us back to the states. It was a few more years before he ever brought up the subject of having children again." She was talking quieter now and focusing on the countertop in front of her.

Jane saw her determination to tell her story when she clearly didn't want to. He turned to tend to the omelette, though he suddenly wasn't hungry anymore and wished he had stayed back in the bedroom. The tea kettle came to a boil, and Jane took it off the burner. He didn't feel like having tea either. He found plates and forks for Lisbon and Rigsby and split the omelette in half.

"Thanks," Rigsby said, taking the plate offered.

Patricia continued, "And it took another year of negotiating the terms under which I would agree to bring another child into such a brutal world. Randall calls Ryan his _Treaty of Versailles_ and he's the German who had to make all the concessions."

"And that was not declaring him a U.S. citizen?" Lisbon asked. "I don't get it."

Jane brought Lisbon's plate over to her and sat down on the counter stool next to her.

"That was one of the concessions, yes. By then I was working with the police throughout Indonesia on missing children cases. I knew that Americans, in particular, were targeted and that the Embassy lists were the often the first place kidnappers found their subjects. The other was that we moved to Brunei so Ryan could be born there. Brunei is a little sliver of a First World country in the midst of Third World realities. The hospitals were better, the privacy laws are strictly enforced, and the protection of foreigners is seen as essential to the economic growth of the country. Kidnappers do not dare to cross the border into Brunei when there are so many easy targets outside of it. The major concession was that Ryan and I would go very long stretches without seeing Randall. His work was in the jungle mostly and I could not take Ryan there very often, because of the cost of hiring armed security."

Her story explained why she never mentioned Ryan in her interviews. Jane looked at her, trying to separate his old emotions of sorrow and anger out so he could see her more clearly. Was she really everything she claimed to be? Could she really be trusted? He knew she had seen the change between him and Lisbon, and that scared him. That was potentially dangerous. He noticed for the first time that she had a moleskin journal, one of those blank travel journals, to the right of her and a pen sticking out from the place she had obviously been writing. How had he not seen that before now? He was not himself and it was starting to grate on him. Everything about her seemed natural, normal, and he couldn't help but think it was _too_ normal, _too_ natural. Could she really be that open and transparent? Jane had to admit that he didn't have a clue.

Patricia was looking at him now, reading him. "You've remembered something," she said.

An internal alarm went off in an instant. Was he really that easy for her to read? "No," he said. Why did she elicit such immediate responses? He hated his loss of control when with her.

"Yes, you have."

His jaw clenched involuntarily. "No," he said more forcibly. "I still don't remember anything about you."

He saw her brush off the sliver of hurt he'd cause as she continued reading him. "You've remembered something, though."

A noise behind him drew her attention away from him and he saw immediate concern on her face. He turned to see Ryan crossing the living room towards them looking much more subdued and cautious as he got closer to the kitchen. He had obviously slept in the clothes he'd shown up wearing-expensive jeans and a dark blue dress shirt now badly wrinkled.

Jane turned back and looked at the plate of food in front of Lisbon. "How are the eggs?" he asked, though he saw she still hadn't touched them. He looked up and saw her looking at him with a mixture of -was that pity or concern or anticipation of the worst? He didn't know and he didn't like it.

"Ryan," Patricia said, smiling tentatively as he entered the kitchen. She held her hand out to draw him towards her. He followed her lead and went to her. She reached out and grabbed his hand. "Are you hungry?"

Ryan shook his head and looked around the room with a fair amount of chagrin, which pleased Jane immeasurably. When Rigsby came over to stand next to Jane at the island, holding his plate and eating, but keeping an eye on Ryan, Jane couldn't help but smile and look at Lisbon. Rigsby had his back. Lisbon rolled her eyes at him, and Jane had the fleeting memory of her beneath him in the throes of ecstasy and he had a sudden and burning desire to kiss her into another such situation.

"Okay," Patricia said. "There's coffee and tea if you want it."

"Mom," Ryan said with great reluctance, "I've decided I'm not going to stay here." He looked at Lisbon. "I understand that you are calling this 'protective custody' but we are not obligated to stay here. We are not under arrest."

"That's true," Lisbon said. "But it is in your best interest to stay here where your safety is ensured."

"It's my understanding," Ryan said, speaking directly to Lisbon, "that there is no assurance of safety here, that any association with my half brother, in fact, _ensures_ a very real _lack_ of safety."

"Ryan!" Patricia admonished.

Ryan put his hand out to his mother. "No, it's true," he said to her. "Nothing good will come from this. We _have_ to leave. Nobody really knows you are his mother. But being here, staying here, as if you need protection, will only alert those who want to know that there is actually a connection between you. There is _no_ connection. We have to leave."

Jane watched as Patricia shook her head and pulled on the hand she was still holding. "No, Ryan, no."

"Actually," Jane said, his icy voice betraying nothing of the hot anger boiling up. "He's absolutely right. What a smart boy you raised, Mom."


	22. Chapter 22

"Okay," Lisbon said standing up. "We're not going to have a repeat of last night."

Patricia pulled on Ryan's arm and said, "Ryan, no," and Ryan was now looking at Jane for the first time since he'd arrived in the kitchen.

Rigsby put his plate down on the counter and Lisbon was just as ready to step in if the need arose.

Jane was smiling cheerfully with his eyes damn near sparkling.

"I mean it, Jane," Lisbon said. She tried to catch those sparkling eyes but he was hyper-focused on Ryan, who was staring right back at him.

"What do you mean, Lisbon? I'm agreeing with him," Jane said innocently. "He's got it all figured out."

"Patrick, don't, please," Patricia said.

"What? The Boy Wonder is right, nothing good will come from you being here. It's really best if you both leave," Jane said conversationally.

"Jane!" Lisbon said, trying to snap him off of the track he was racing down.

"You're an asshole," Ryan said.

"Oh," Jane said, "Now we're getting somewhere."

"Okay, that's enough," Lisbon growled out. "Nobody is going anywhere. Ryan, I appreciate your concerns, but you do not fully understand the situation—"

Ryan pulled his arm away from his mother. "I know enough about the situation to know that it's not something my mother or I should have anything to do with."

"Ryan—" Patricia said.

"No, Mom, this is crazy. This is worse than Indonesia. If Dad were here he would say the same thing." Ryan looked at Lisbon. "You have no right to keep us here. We are free to go anytime we want."

"And I don't want to leave," Patricia said. "You cannot speak for me or your father, Ryan. But I do know he would want us both to be safe."

"This is not safe! The very fact that you were taken to a "safe" house the minute you met this guy says it all."

"_This_ _guy_?" Jane said.

"He's my son, just as much as you, Ryan, and he needs my help," Patricia said.

"I don't need your help," Jane said. "No one asked you for _anything_."

Lisbon put her hand on Jane's shoulder and squeezed, hoping it would keep him from going for the juggler.

"Oh, because you're doing such a great job," Ryan said. "Big time consultant to the CBI. And how long have you been chasing this serial killer?"

"All right, that's enough!" Lisbon shouted at Ryan.

"Hey!" Rigsby said, putting both hands on the island and looking murderously at Ryan.

"This conversation is over," Lisbon said, moving around the island and reaching for Ryan's arm. "Ryan, you are coming with me, right now."

"No," Ryan said, stepping out of her grasp.

"Ryan, stop it," Patricia said.

"Excuse me?" Lisbon asked Ryan.

"You had no right to bring me down here without telling me why," Ryan said. "You have no right to tell me what to do. I spent the first half of my life living in the shadows, hiding from some would-be boogey man. I choose not to live that like that now. I have a job. I have a life, and I'd like to get back to that now."

He said this all to Lisbon as if he were telling her some unfortunate but necessary information that she was just going to have to deal with.

"Uh-oh," Jane said.

"I'm sorry," Lisbon said in the sweetest and softest voice she could muster, "but as a visitor to this country, you do not enjoy the same rights and privileges as its citizens. In fact, a work visa is a privilege that is benevolently given and easily taken away. You were brought to Santa Clarita for questioning in relation to a background check we are conducting on your mother, who has not been entirely forthcoming and who has arrived at a highly unusual time in regards to an ongoing investigation. If you would like to contact the Brunei Embassy about what your rights are, by all means, or you can just come with me right now. I think I can give you a clearer picture of what your situation is at this particular time. What you do with that information is entirely up to you."

She narrowed her eyes at him. She saw his stubbornness warring with the cold reality of her logic. God help her, she felt like she was battling a younger version of Jane, a version she could easily overpower, and she was thoroughly enjoying it.

Jane breathed out a mock sigh of relief. "Wow," he said, elongating the vowel.

"Shut. Up. Jane," Lisbon ground out, still watching Ryan.

"Listen to her, Ryan," Patricia said. "There is nothing to lose by just listening."

Lisbon watched him slowly give up the fight. She swept her hand out to show him the way out of the kitchen. He frowned and went ahead of her. "Rigsby, stay here," she said over her shoulder.

"Got it, boss," Rigsby said.

"Downstairs," Lisbon said to Ryan with more authority than really necessary, given he was looking rather defeated. God help her, she was really going to have to check herself with this kid.

* * *

Rigsby pick up his plate and started eating again, while Jane watched Lisbon take Ryan away. When he turned back around he found Patricia watching him, obviously wanting to say something.

"Lisbon doesn't get mad that often," he said, pointing after her and Ryan. "But when she does—watch out."

"What do you mean?" Rigsby said. "She gets mad all the time."

"Well, yeah," Jane said, "but you still have to watch out." He was watching Patricia now, who seemed to be gathering a storm around her. The look in her eyes made him cautious and squirmy.

"You enjoy being cruel," she finally said.

"Not for cruelty's sake, no."

"So what was that? What was last night?"

"That was me finding amusement in watching an entitled brat discover the world doesn't revolve around him."

"And you would send him away from here in pursuit of that enjoyment knowing that he could be killed simply because he is related to you?"

It took a moment for him to understand what she was saying. "I—no. I knew he wouldn't leave. I, uh, knew Lisbon wouldn't let him."

"You don't know Ryan. You don't know what he has been through to become so adamant about his freedom."

"He's not going anywhere," Jane said.

"You mock him for not understanding your situation, and yet you are acting as if you understand his. You do not, and I'm asking that you stop your intentionally cruel behavior towards him."

Rigsby went and stood over the sink, his back to them.

"I'm the one you are angry with. Leave Ryan out of it."

"And what makes you think I would do anything you want, when the son you actually raised won't even listen to you?"

"You won't ask, will you? You want to know, but you're too proud to ask."

"I'm tired of your explanations. Every time you tell a story it always ends up explaining away your decisions."

"I want to tell you even though it will show you how small and shallow and insecure I've been most of my life. I will do that because it is the truth, but also to tell you that my failings, my lack of faith, are the only reason I did not try to find you. You were my perfect little boy and I was afraid who I would find if I came back. I was afraid of what Alex had turned you into because I hadn't been there. I was afraid you'd only see me as a mark, and I knew I wouldn't have been able to survive that."

"Please. You had a new and better life. A new son. Who had time to go back and sift through the ashes?"

"No, I didn't have a son when my husband and I considered trying to find you. We went round and round about it. My husband was afraid of the threat Alex had made, and then I would have been an easy mark for Alex. It would not have been hard to find out about my husband's family. I imagined all the ways he would try to torture me, taking our money and then not delivering you. And then what if you had not wanted to come? I imagined that too. You, wanting only the money and nothing else."

"Well, why didn't you use your psychic skills to find out the truth?" Jane asked. "Explain that."

Patricia considered him a long moment before answering. "Why are you not working the case with your team?"

"That's none of your business. Don't turn this around on me. I asked you a question."

"Strong emotions cloud the work. And when it comes to you, Patrick, I have no real clarity. I am half-blind."

* * *

At the bottom of the stairs, Lisbon pushed past Ryan and opened the door to the rec room, waving him in. "Wait right there," she said, pointing to the end of the pool table. Van Pelt was at her computer and Cho on surveillance. Lisbon went past them to the boxes of case files piled up against the wall, digging through them and grabbing the files she needed to make her point.

When she returned to Ryan she threw the files down on the pool table. "Look, I'm not gonna sugar coat this for you, Ryan. I can appreciate that you have been drawn into a bad situation here and that Jane is intentionally pushing your buttons—"

"This is bullshit," Ryan said. "I didn't do anything wrong. All I did was file a missing persons report on my mother because she was _missing_."

"I understand."

"And now you're threatening my life here, my career, because of some crazed killer who has some kind of vendetta against that guy up there—that guy. What the hell is wrong with that guy anyway?" Ryan was getting worked up and Lisbon waited for him to get it all out. "What the hell is his problem? I didn't do anything to make him go after me like that."

"Seriously?" Lisbon asked. "You can't figure that out on your own? Because if that's the case, maybe you deserve being skewered by _that guy_ up there."

Ryan frowned at her.

"Look, on a good day, Jane can be a pain in the ass, but he's had about three weeks of very bad days and having his mother, your mother, show up the way she did after, I don't know, thirty-five years of _nothing_, well, you know, maybe he has a right to be as mean as he wants to be. Especially to some punk kid who is throwing his weight around and acting like he knows what's going on."

Ryan pressed his lips together.

Lisbon reached down and opened Jane's file. She pulled out a black and white studio photo of Jane with one arm around Angela and the other holding Charlotte on his hip, all of them smiling for the camera. "This was Jane's family," she said. "One day he does a textbook profile of a serial killer on a local TV station—seriously, he probably got it out of a textbook—nothing that a first year psych major couldn't have come up with, and he comes home to this." She digs through the file and pulls out the crime scene photos of Angela and Charlotte."

"Jesus," Ryan said, looking away in horror.

"Red John likes to torture women. He likes to see them suffer and beg for it to end. But he gets off on torturing Jane in other ways, first by taking his family away." She dug into the other file on the table. "About six years after he lost his family Jane went on one date with this woman." Lisbon showed him a photo of Kristina Frye. "Red John kidnapped her and mentally tortured her to the point that she will never leave the mental institution she now calls home."

Lisbon turned, saying, "Come here," as she headed towards Van Pelt and Cho and the victim boards. Ryan followed. She stopped at Lorelei and Michaela's board, and pointed to Lorelei. "This woman was a disciple of Red John's that Jane hooked up with to try and turn her. He damn near got Red John too. We found her on Tuesday." She turned to Ryan. His face was pale and he looked queasy. She waved at the other boards. "The rest of these women and children were killed in the last three weeks simply to torture Jane. As you can see, they are staged to look exactly the way Jane found his wife and daughter. We have good reason to believe that if Red John found out about you and your mother's relation to Jane he would do this to both of you if given the chance."

Ryan barely looked at the other boards before saying, "I'm going to be sick." Lisbon led him quickly to the bathroom where she heard him losing his lunch. When he finally emerged, she took him to the laundry room where the team had set up their bunk room with cots and a treadmill. She sat Ryan down on one of the cots and went to get him a cup of water from the water cooler. Handing it to him, she sat down next to him.

"Look, I'm sorry I had to give it to you so directly, but you needed to know how serious this situation is. It would be foolish to return to San Francisco."

"But how can he possibly know we're related?" Ryan asked. "Nobody knows. Patrick didn't even know who Mom was."

Lisbon knew she had made her point on hearing him call Jane _Patrick_ instead of _that guy_.

"We've known that Red John has people in the FBI and we suspect he was people in the CBI. We don't trust anyone outside our team. And the DNA test was done in-house. It went to the lab unmarked, but people talk. I'm sure the word spread like wild fire that a woman was at HQ claiming to be Jane's mother. That's why we're here and not in Sacramento. Well, one of the reasons. But the reason why Jane didn't recognize your mother is much more complicated."

"What do you mean?"

Lisbon hesitated. Ryan was genuinely asking and, all things considered, he seemed like a good kid who'd just reacted badly to a bad situation. "Losing a parent, especially a mother, at a young age is traumatizing," she said. "But for Jane, in his circumstance, it was moreso."

"How?"

"Everyone around him pretended she didn't exist. And his father lied to him about the reason why she left. But the bottom line, Ryan? Jane has been through two significant traumas in his life. Does he have a mean streak? Yes. A mile wide. Has he treated you badly? Yes. But I want you to understand that he is reacting to the idea of you, not to you personally. You should either give him a wide berth or give him a way to see you for who you really are. Right now you represent everything he didn't get from his mother."

"You're assuming that I'm going to stay here."

"What?" She almost said "you're kidding," but she could see he wasn't. She wanted to reach out and smack him.

"I don't know that I can do that," he said.

"Then you're an idiot," she said. She stood up. God help her, she wanted to bring down the wrath of God on this kid.

Ryan stood up warily. "I don't mean any disrespect," he said. "I just don't—"

"Just get out of here, kid, before I kill you myself."

"I don't—" Ryan said, his confusion and fear causing his voice to waver.

Lisbon clenched her fist, surprised at how quickly she'd risen to the level of anger she was at. She cut him off, saying, "You need to understand that if you decide to leave, I will have your work visa rescinded and have you deported back to Brunei for not cooperating in a murder investigation."

"Why would you do that?!" Ryan was near tears.

"Because I'll be damned if I'm going to let you become another corpse that Jane has to feel guilty about. Now get out of here," she said, "before I do something I will regret."


	23. Chapter 23

_Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and shared their insights. It's very nice to get feedback. I'm having a lot of fun doing this and am glad you all are enjoying it too. A week of vacation spent totally vegging and working on this has been restorative, hence the frequent updating of late... :)_

* * *

_"Strong emotions cloud the work. And when it comes to you, Patrick, I have no real clarity. I am half-blind."_

"Well, that's rather convenient, isn't it? I'm too upset to be psychic for… what? Thirty-five years?" Jane shook his head in disbelief. He'd been able to keep his cool so far, but the way she was looking at him, where she was trying to take the conversation made his pulse quicken.

"Being upset is one thing," she said. "Living inside a black hole for years is quite another. I think you might know something about that."

"I don't think you know anything about what I know," he said. "And it doesn't matter, because we're talking about _you_ here. And let's see what we have here—you specialize in finding lost children, but you're too upset to find your own. No, wait, you're _afraid_ to find me because I might be some lowlife conman who just wants your rich husband's money, and you pretty much ensure that I _am_ a lowlife conman by leaving me to be raised by one."

Jane was aware his voice was rising in volume. He was aware that Rigsby had set his plate down in the sink and was awkwardly slinking out of the kitchen. He was aware that tears were forming in Patricia's eyes and that she was looking at him not with anger or defensiveness or shame but with something more surprising, something closer to compassion. Which only spurred him on.

"You start a new family and build a charmed little life for your new son. He's 26 years old, and you never got around to telling him about your lowlife beginnings, about his lowlife brother because why? It would have scandalized your expatriate community? It would have cost him friends? Kept him out of the diplomat crowd? But now that you're here you want to _heal_ our relationship? What relationship? We don't have a relationship!"

Jane was aware he had tears forming in his own eyes, that he was beginning to lose control of his voice, which only spurred him on more.

"You want to compare notes on living in a black hole? Really? You have no idea what you're talking about. You have no right to even talk to me about that."

Tears were falling down Patricia's face now and Jane's chest was starting to constrict, like it had the night before with Lisbon, when he couldn't catch his breath. He stopped himself from continuing—and he could keep going if he wanted, he had plenty to say—but he was beginning to get breathless. He was suddenly scared and he tried to focus on calming himself, on breathing through his diaphragm. He was aware of Patricia standing up and walking and he was glad she was leaving. She did this to him, made him lose control, and he was sick of it. But then she was standing beside him and she reached out and put one hand on his back and with the other pulled his head to her so he was pressed against her chest. She held him and rubbed circles at the place just behind his heart, and he remembered that. He remembered how she would say when the heart hurts you need to soothe it. He closed his eyes and tears fell and he remembered how ever present she used to be, how she filled all the big and small spaces of their lives back then, so that when she was gone all he had was a deep and endless ache for her to come back and bring form to the great emptiness of his life.

"I'm sorry, Patrick," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

He didn't want to cry, he didn't want her to hold him, but he did. He couldn't have stopped any of it, because the sorrow he kept under wraps most of the time welled up and overtook him. He knew this sorrow so well, had always thought it was for Angela and Charlotte, but now he knew his mother was in there, a shadowy presence always on the edges, always there, never acknowledged. He let her hold him until his breathing came back to normal. She kept rubbing his back and holding his head firmly to her and as he calmed, he heard her heartbeat, steady and strong and … pained. In that moment he had a glimpse of her with her husband and Ryan, her good life, and he saw very clearly the pain she carried with her, a happiness that held a sorrow that matched his own. He pulled away from her. He didn't want to see that. He wiped his eyes and she stepped back, letting him go but leaving her hand on his back. He shrugged it off.

Patricia sat down on the counter stool, Lisbon's plate of cold eggs in front of her. Jane wished Lisbon would come back.

"I'd like to atone for my mistakes, Patrick," Patricia said. "I think I can help you." She wiped her tears away.

"Help me do what?" He looked at her and saw her sincerity.

"Help you put the pieces of your life back to together."

He was instantly jittery. He stood and went over to the stove, but realized he didn't want tea. He didn't want her help either. He turned to her. "That's never going to happen," he said. "Some of those pieces are never coming back."

"I know," she said. "But others can."

"What if I don't want them to?"

"That's your choice. If that's what you want. But I can also help you find Red John."

He frowned at her, irritation rising up. "He's not a lost child. I thought that was your specialty."

"He's very much a lost child. We all are, Patrick."

"Ryan's not. Ryan's never been lost."

"Not until now. And knowing I am the cause of it is not something I take lightly. But I also know that none of us get through life without getting lost and broken along the way. Some of us, like me and you, Patrick, get more lost and broken than others. I don't know why. Maybe because we feel things more deeply, see things more fully. It makes us take everything harder, makes the recovery longer and more painful. Ryan has not lived the charmed life you think he has, but in comparison to yours, to mine, it is fairly charmed. This is all very hard on him, but he will bounce back. He will accept you if you let him. He will find his way easily, I'm sure of it."

Jane didn't know what to say. She'd said too much for him to process.

"Red John is targeting children now. Children have been my specialty only because I chose to make them so. I can choose to make Red John my specialty if you'd let me."

"The CBI doesn't hire psychic consultants," Jane said.

"You can call it whatever you like. My track record speaks for itself."

"Red John is not some third world band of hungry kidnappers."

"You don't want my help then," she said.

"Red John is mine."

"How is the case coming?" She asked the question neutrally and Jane saw what she was doing.

"We don't discuss ongoing cases with outsiders."

Just then Ryan appeared looking worn and upset. "Mom," he said, his voice cracking.

Patricia rose and went to him. "What happened?" She put her hand on his shoulder.

"Mom, she's threatening to deport me back to Brunei."

Jane watched, wondering what Ryan had done to cause Lisbon to resort to a threat that extreme.

Patricia said, "Okay. It's not going to come to that, Ryan. Come on. Come with me." Patricia looked at Jane before leaving. "Please consider my offer," she said to him as she led Ryan off towards her bedroom.

Jane watched them until they disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door behind them. He then went over to where Patricia had left her travel journal. Taking a seat on the stool, he flipped it open to the first pages and began reading.


	24. Chapter 24

Lisbon went to the cot with her suitcase on it and grabbed her bath kit and fresh clothes. She had work to do and a hot shower would help her refocus. It wasn't every day she threatened to ruin the life of a 26-year-old and she was surprised at how unregretful she was about it. The only part of her that was uneasy was the part that kind of relished the power she held over him. He looked so much like Jane. Was she really just unleashing all her Jane frustrations that had accumulated through the years onto the easy target of his brother?

By the time she emerged from the bathroom, hair still wet and dressed for the day, she was her calm, collected self again. Van Pelt waved her over and Lisbon saw Rigsby on the computer next to her.

"What are you doing down here?" she asked him.

"It got pretty heavy up there," he said. "I thought I should give them some privacy."

"What happened?"

"Jane really tore into her."

A pang of sympathy for Jane went through her. The whole deal was a mess.

"I hung out at the stairs until Ryan went up. He and Patricia are in her bedroom. Jane's in the kitchen."

"You think Ryan will try to leave?" Cho asked from the bank of surveillance monitors.

"He better not," Lisbon said. "But keep an eye out. Van Pelt, what do you got?"

"The John Doe in Ft. Worth was confirmed to be Ricky Streeter. Ballistics matches the gun owned by Zeke Carlyle. The PD squeezed a confession out of Troy Anderson. It corroborates Patricia's story."

Lisbon sighed. Well, at least they had that. A cold case solved and another hurdle cleared on Patricia, for her at least, probably not for Jane. Even with the confession. "Okay. That's good to know. But we still need to be diligent in handling the Red John case. We're still keeping it all down here. If she asks for any info, you send her to me. Cho, you need to make a run to the local library. Jane's gonna go crazy without something to keep his mind busy. He's requesting spy novels. Or westerns."

"Seriously?" Cho asked.

"I know, but just do it. I think he'd find more enjoyment reading the wallpaper, but that's what he's asking for. Rigsby, take over for Cho. I'm going to check in with Stanton."

She spent the next hour on the phone with Stanton and going over his team's work on the intranet. They were doing good work, but getting nowhere, as usual. Everyone was starting to feel the press of time. It was Thursday. Would Red John return to his earlier pattern of Monday evenings? And where?

"Jane's here," Rigsby said and a knock at the door confirmed it.

Lisbon got up and looked at the monitor. Jane stood waiting, hands jammed in his pant pockets, and he clearly had no intention of entering the room. "I'll take it," she said. She went out to him, closing the door behind her. "Hey," she said. "You okay?"

He gave a half shrug. "Sure."

She didn't buy it. He looked troubled and very tired. "What's up?"

"I need talk to you," he said. "But not in there."

"Okay." She led him back to the laundry room and closed the door. "What's going on?"

Jane looked around at the set up of the room. "Nothing. I just wanted to see you."

"Rigsby said you tore into Patricia. You okay?"

He looked at her almost sleepily, or shyly, or something she couldn't quite name. "Yeah."

"So… did you want to talk or not?"

"Not really. Do you think I could take a nap down here? I'm tired and I kind of miss the team."

She pressed her lips into a smile. "We miss you too, Jane."

"Can I sleep on your cot? You know, the one over there that hasn't been slept on yet?"

He asked the question like he was asking for the doughnut with sprinkles or the crossword section of the paper, and the look on his face betrayed nothing, but the effect of his request was instant. A flash of heat rose to her face as a twinge of desire ran through her loins. Damn. The slightest smile lifted the corners of his mouth and it made her want to throw him down on the closest cot and have her way with him.

"You can take whatever cot you want, Jane," she said.

"Hmm. I'd like that," he said.

Jesus. This could get out of hand. Fast. "I have to get back to work."

"Okay."

"Cho is at the library getting you some books."

"Okay."

"God, I really have to get back to work." She didn't even wait for him to answer but forced herself to turn and walk back to the rec room. She knew he was smiling and watching her walk and she swore to God that she would punch him if he said one word about the way she was walking.

* * *

Jane lifted the lid of Lisbon's unzipped suitcase, curious as to what Lisbon brought on an extended trip. He looked, but he didn't rifle, and he saw no surprises. Just the basics. She really needed to be reminded of the finer things, the joys of non essentials. He lifted the suitcase and set it on the floor, then went to stretch out on the cot. He did miss the team, missed being around the action, the noise, the conversations. The bedroom upstairs was too quiet and now the bed had the heady smells of sex all over it that would drive him crazy and prevent any sleep.

He had wanted to talk to Lisbon, but when he saw her, he knew it wasn't the right time. She was focused on work and what he wanted to talk about was too private and still a little unformed in his mind. He had read everything in his mother's journal, including a letter she was in the middle of writing to her husband. He'd committed it all to memory, in fact, because he had realized very quickly how dense and disjointed the content of the journal was. It was too much to understand in one sitting. It was fragments of thoughts, dreams, and impressions mixed with flight schedules and confirmation codes and housing prices. The narrative of the letter was the only part with a train of thought that made any sense. He would have been intrigued no matter whose journal it was, but that it was his mother's and some of the content was about him made it that more captivating. Patricia Steiner was very much a puzzle and her journal suggested just how intricate of one she was.

She had clearly bought the journal to track her trip to the US and the beginning was all the usual travel details and impressions of the places she visited, the people she saw along the way, snippets of conversations she liked. She had a poet's bent and some of the language read like lines of a poem in progress. If he knew her only from her writing, he would have liked her very much.

The tone of the journal quickly changed with the entry that simply read _It's Patrick_. Where the twenty-odd pages preceding this entry had covered a month or so, there was an immediate explosion of pages covering the last six days. What followed that first entry was an obvious accumulation of research she had done on him via the internet, notes that tracked his history, the notorious one, but also the one with the CBI. More unsettling were her notes after they had met, the questions she had about him, about herself. She clearly saw him as a puzzle too, and he was surprised to see how much she had written about her conversation with Van Pelt on the drive down to Santa Clarita, how she almost cataloged the cases Van Pelt had told her about and the way he had solved them. Why would she do that? She was clearly confused with his method. But what did it matter?

Even more unsettling than those notes were the ones of her impressions of him and the team. He didn't know what else to call them. They were more than anyone could really know, even from a hot reading, and they were very accurate, at least as far as he knew, at least the ones pertaining to him. He suspected they were even more accurate than he knew, because some of the details about Cho, Lisbon, and Van Pelt could only be verified by them. That was one of the things he had wanted to ask Lisbon. What Patricia had written was very private, and he wasn't sure Lisbon would even admit or acknowledge it.

He turned onto his side, deeply unsettled. He was tired, the whole thing was just tiring him. He wished he could wrap himself around Lisbon and go to sleep. He closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind. Patricia Steiner was a puzzle he wasn't sure he wanted to figure out. He soon realized it was impossible to turn his thoughts off, so he directed them somewhere more pleasing. He began to remember everything about the previous night starting from when he woke up pressed against Lisbon and with his hand squeezing her breast.

He woke to Cho leaning over and placing a couple books on the floor next to the cot. When Cho saw he was awake, he said, "Sorry, man. Didn't mean to wake you."

"No," Jane said, sitting up. "That's okay." He hadn't talked with Cho in days it seemed. "You went to the library. Thanks."

"No problem."

Jane leaned over and picked up the books. "What's this?" he asked. "I told Lisbon I wanted mindless reading."

"She said you wanted westerns and spy novels. _All the Pretty Horses_ is a western."

"Yeah, but it doesn't look like a mindless one. And Jung? You're giving me Carl Jung? How is _Synchronicity: An Acausal Connecting Principle_ a spy novel or western?"

"I know you've read him before. I thought it appropriate."

Jane saw Cho still had two books he was holding against his leg.

"What are those?" Jane asked.

"They're for Patricia."

"Oh. Well, what are they?"

Cho held them out for Jane to see.

"_Freedom_ by Jonathon Franzen and _Kafka on the Shore_ by Haruki Murakami," Jane read and then looked up at Cho. "That seems like lighter reading than my books."

"I got them for her," Cho said.

"Seriously, Cho. I should have sent Rigsby."

"I thought you knew not to judge a book by its cover," Cho replied, turning to leave.

"Oh. Well. That's wounding," Jane said to his retreating back. Jane dropped the books on the floor and stretched out on his back. He stared at the ceiling, knowing that sleep would not come easily again. Soon he heard raised voices upstairs. Ryan and Patricia's. He sat up. He heard noises in the rec room and soon the sound of footsteps on the stairs. He got up and went to see what the commotion was.

As he rounded the stairs at the front door, he saw Lisbon and Rigsby approaching an even more upset Ryan, who was purposely avoiding his mother. Cho stood next to Patricia who had her arms crossed tightly before her, as if she were willing herself not to reach out to Ryan. She was clearly distressed by his behavior, and Ryan was currently demanding that Lisbon find him a ride back to San Francisco.

"You can't hold me here against my will," he said, his voice loud and angry.

"We're not holding you here," Lisbon said calmly.

"You need to calm down," Rigsby said.

"I need to get back to work," Ryan said. "You drove me down here without telling me why. I have no car, no means of getting back."

Interesting, Jane thought. He was calling her bluff. Jane hung back. He really didn't want to get involved.

"We still have questions you need to answer," Lisbon said.

"You haven't questioned me at all this whole time!" Ryan said.

"We've been busy," Lisbon said.

"This is like kidnapping," Ryan said in disbelief.

"No, this like us protecting those who are too stupid to protect themselves," Lisbon said.

Jane looked at Patricia, who seemed to be fading backwards, fading into herself. He saw how afraid she was for Ryan's safety but he saw something else too that gave him pause because of the clarity of the insight: he saw her deep fear that fate would only allow her to have one son at a time. For the first time, he felt a sympathy for her that wasn't laced with anger or indifference. Nausea overcame him when he thought that if something happened to Ryan, he'd be the son she was left with and he'd never be a good son, not now, not ever.

He climbed the last of the stairs and went towards them. Ryan was about to protest Lisbon's statement, but when he saw Jane coming, Jane saw him visibly steel himself with the wariness of the bullied.

"Let him go, Lisbon," he said. "It's not worth risking your career over."


	25. Chapter 25

_AN: So, I'm on a roll. Two updates in one day. For all my faithful followers, thank you for your reviews. When I started this chapter I had no idea where it would end, but I have to say I am laughing over where it landed. :) Tomorrow is my last day of vacation, so I doubt I'll be updating as quickly..._

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"Jane, don't," Lisbon said, turning to him. She really didn't want to deal with another blow-up between the two brothers.

"I'm assuming that you took Ryan downstairs to show him what Red John does to his victims, right?" Jane asked her.

"Yes."

"And you told him what these latest murders are all about."

"Yes."

"And that his looking so much like me, more than being related to me, would make him a rather enticing prospect for someone like Red John."

"Well, no, we didn't get that far. Frankly, I didn't even think about that." She was relieved to see where Jane was going with this.

"He knows how long Red John takes with his victims, though, right? How the staging afterwards, the way people are meant to find the victims, is as much of the fun for him as the torturing and watching them die?"

"We didn't get into that either."

"You're just trying to scare me," Ryan said.

"No, I'm just stating facts. If you want to willfully ignore them, that's your choice. But at least consider what kind of final image you'll leave your parents with, because the torturing won't end when you die. It'll continue as long as they live because they'll never be able to forget how much you suffered before you died, how there was no mercy for you at the end, only the sick taunting of a madmen to usher you into death."

"You don't know that he even knows we exist."

"Ryan, please!" Patricia said. "You need to stop this now and listen to them."

"He's hacked into the CBI computers on a number of occasions. He has disciples in multiple law enforcement agencies. He may not know where we are right now, but I am betting that he is working hard to find out _why_ we are not working the last crime scene."

Ryan had nothing to say to that.

"Let him go, Lisbon. If he can't compute this, he'll just cause you trouble."

"Well, I don't know about that. How much trouble can he cause in Brunei?"

"You can't do that!" Ryan said.

"You know what, you are pissing me off enough to actually _want_ to do it. It's my job to protect people from danger. I'm not going to knowingly send you off and hope that Red John doesn't figure out who you are. That's just not gonna happen. If I have to put an armed guard on you all the way to the airport, I will."

"You should stop while you still have the freedom you do," Jane said.

"This is bullshit!" Ryan said. He looked around the room, and seeing that everyone was against him, turned and went back to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

"Jesus," Lisbon said. "I thought I was going to have to draw my weapon."

"Thank you," Patricia said to Jane. "Thank you both," she said to Lisbon.

"It's not real to him," Jane said to Patricia. "That's the downside of a protected life. He doesn't know what is truly dangerous. He thinks it's just the unlucky ones who have bad things happen to them."

"Yes, that's true," Patricia said. "But he fought tooth and nail for a normal life as a teen. It's why we moved to Brazil, which was a sacrifice for my husband and his career. Ryan was too young to understand the real danger in Indonesia. He thought we were just being paranoid, or that I had spent too much time around the police. This is an old battle for him, one that he won the last time he fought it."

"Well, he's going to have to decide which is more important, his freedom or his life," Jane said.

Lisbon was surprised to see Jane talking so calmly to his mother. He didn't seem like someone who had torn into her just hours before. Whatever had happened between the two seemed to have evened things out a bit.

"And tell him I am dead serious about revoking his work visa," Lisbon said.

"I will," Patricia said. "But maybe just not yet." She looked towards the bedroom before turning for the kitchen. Cho followed her, catching Lisbon's eye and her nod as he went.

"You want me up or down?" Rigsby asked.

"Down," Lisbon said. "Cho can take of care of this up here. I think we need to watch the perimeters though. I wouldn't put it past him to try and climb out the window."

The three of them headed down the stairs, Rigsby leading the way. At the rec room, Rigsby went inside, but Lisbon hung back with Jane, closing the door for privacy.

"That was a good thing you did," she said.

Jane grimaced.

"What? That was a good thing," Lisbon said.

"I'm the cause of all his current problems. Good is relative."

"Oh. Well, you have a point there."

"Ryan has a point too. We can't stay holed up here indefinitely. How is the case coming?"

"It's not. Stanton's team is working it, but there's nothing—Did something happen?"

"What do you mean?"

"You seem different. You were different with your mother. Did something happen?"

"No, not really."

"No. You're different. You're more… grounded.

"Can you stay with me tonight?"

She wasn't expecting that. "Jane…"

"Just work it out somehow? Because I want to talk with you about something."

"We can talk."

"Not like this, not down here. It's just that I don't want any—" He hesitated and seemed annoyed. "I don't want any distractions. It's just private and not easy for me."

Lisbon saw his struggle. She wasn't sure what to say. She couldn't promise that she could spend the whole night in his room again. It wouldn't look good to the team and could cause some real problems, because two nights in a row was more than just moral support. She also saw that Jane clearly needed her or wanted her support. "I can't promise anything, Jane, but I will figure something out. I will make sure I get up to see you."

"Okay."

"I'm sorry I can't promise anything more."

"No, no, that's all right. I understand."

"Good."

"So nothing new on the case?"

"No. But we did get news from Ft. Worth. The John Doe was confirmed to be Ricky Streeter. Troy Anderson corroborated Patricia's story. One more cold case solved."

"Oh. Okay."

Lisbon frowned. "Are you okay?"

"Sure," he said a little too quickly.

"What happened, Jane? And don't deny it. I can tell something happened."

He sighed and looked at her sheepishly. "I read her journal."

"What?! I didn't even know she had a journal."

"She left it on the kitchen island when Ryan came back upstairs."

"Well, what was it like?"

Jane frowned. "Let's just say I wish I hadn't found it."

"Why? Did you find something incriminating?"

"No, nothing like that. In fact, I don't doubt her anymore. It's just… It was just a little too much information. She knows things she really shouldn't know."

"What do you mean? Like she's got some kind of informant?" Lisbon's guard was instantly raised.

"No, that's not possible."

"Well then what?" Lisbon searched his face and saw him frown in a way that showed just how painful the information was to him. "Wait, you don't mean you think she's psychic do you?" The sick expression that crossed his face gave her his answer.

Damn. Patrick Jane suspected his mother was a psychic. Could the unbelievable get anymore unbelievable?


	26. Chapter 26

The look on Lisbon's face only heightened Jane's discomfort over what his mother's journal revealed. In the last three weeks Jane had gone through one shock after another—Red John's vicious turn, a dead mother returned, a brother materializing from the ether—but the effect of his mother's jotted notes were like a slow burn working towards a cataclysmic blow out that would change things forever. It scared him. Deeply.

"I'd rather not talk about it here," he said. "I'd rather we keep this between us." Really, he'd rather take Lisbon back upstairs to bed and sink into her, forget everything, just curl up in the soft, sweet space they'd created the night before.

"Of course," Lisbon said, her surprise giving way to concern and… something else.

"What?"

Now she was all confused. "What?"

"You just thought something. What was it?"

"I'm thinking a lot of things, Jane," she said evasively.

"No, you just thought something very specific. I saw it. I just can't read it."

She was clearly debating whether to speak her thoughts.

"Just tell me."

"I was just wondering if she said anything about Red John. And then I wondered if maybe she left that journal out on purpose. I think you're rubbing off on me, Jane. I mean, you've been known to fake diaries. I know everything points to her being exactly who she says she is, but, I don't know. It all reads like a classic Jane stunt. Only deeper. Smarter."

Anger and shame rose up like close cousins but Jane didn't know where to begin in his protest.

"You know what I mean," Lisbon said quickly. "If this is all a ruse, it is incredibly thought out."

"Do you think it's a ruse?" he asked.

"I don't know, Jane. I usually rely on you to figure that out. This whole situation has shown me how much I've come to rely on you, and as a cop I don't think that's a good thing."

"Will you stop it with the evaluations that reduce everything to good or bad? Everything is just what it is. You lead a team that has the highest close rate in the CBI. Am I a factor in that? Of course. But it only works because you're open to me and my methods. How many other agents-in-charge would let me do what I do?"

He didn't wait for an answer. "Do you think it's a ruse?" He wanted to know. "What does your gut tell you?"

"You're really asking," she said, "because you don't have a clue." She looked at him like she didn't recognize him, like he'd just revealed himself to be a sword swallower.

His face flushed with the heat of his shame and he looked away from her. He had one skill that had carried him easily through most of his life, one skill that made him the smartest person in any room he walked into: he knew how to read what was beneath the surface and manipulate it to his own ends—all the subterfuges, the denials, the rationalizations, the justifications, the obfuscations, all the emotional dirt of human nature. And now when he needed that skill most, when he was wallowing around the mud pit of his own life, it was gone, completely submerged by his own grief and guilt and fear and anger.

"Oh, Jane," she whispered.

He couldn't bring himself to look at her, but he forced himself to speak the truth of his situation. "You are the only person on this planet that I trust right now, Lisbon, because I can't even trust myself."

"Okay," Lisbon said. "Okay."

He saw she was recalibrating. She'd do what she could, of that he was sure. "Do you think this is all a ruse?" he asked again.

"Most of the time? No," she said. "Patricia is clearly a woman who has gone through a lot and is trying to make amends to you. She's clearly distressed by you and your situation. I don't think she's faking anything. But, I don't know, who leaves their journal out like that?"

"She was distracted."

"On purpose?"

"No."

"Okay. Does it read like it could have been faked?"

"It was … very scattered but there is a real inquiry going on."

"Did she write about Red John at all?"

Jane hesitated, frowning at the memory of her mentions of Red John. "Not directly."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean only as he is related to me and my situation and as the cause of my continued distrust of her." He knew Lisbon would want to know about Patricia's offer to help, and Lisbon's line of questioning suggested she was wondering if Patricia might be of any help, and that was exactly why he withheld the information: the thought of his mother working the Red John case made his skin crawl.

"Jane, have you recovered any more memories of your mother? I mean, you do have them, but have you gone to find them?"

"No."

"Are you going to?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to. "

"Why not?"

"I just don't. I don't want to talk about that."

"Maybe you should."

"Why? What would be the point? There's no reason to."

Lisbon raised her eyebrows at him and let his words hang out to dry between them.

He frowned. "I don't want to."

"You might consider that going to that room of yours in the memory palace will help us put to rest our questions about her once and for all. I'd really like to put that to bed, Jane, because we really need to get Red John once and for all. I know I said we would manage without you, but let's be honest, we need you. We need _something_. If we clear Patricia of any connection to Red John, we could actually—"

"_No!_ That's _not_ going to happen," Jane said with enough force to startle Lisbon.

"Jane—"

"_No_, you are not going to replace me with my mother. I mean it, Lisbon—"

"Nobody is talking about replacing you—"

"I'll walk. I swear I will walk out of here and not come back. _Ever_." His heart was thrumming and he saw her shock and fear at his words but he couldn't stop. "I mean it."

"You're jumping to conclusions again."

She was wrong, of course, because he saw it all moving that way, even if she didn't know it yet. "It looks that way now," he said.

When she didn't respond, he said, "Look, just give me the case files on the victims. Nothing from the crime scenes—I can't do that—but at least I can see if there are any patterns or—"

"I'm not asking you to do that, Jane."

"I know. I just—"

"I don't want you doing anything you're not ready for."

"Just, no pictures. Okay?"

"You're scaring me, Jane."

"I don't mean to."

"I know, that's what's scaring me."

"I'm sorry."

"You just threatened to leave because I suggested you recover your memories of your mother."

"No, I threatened to leave if you allowed my mother to work the Red John case."

Lisbon frowned. "I never—"

"You were going to. Don't deny it."

Cho rounded the corner of the stairs and came down to them. Sensing the tension in the air, he moved wordlessly past them and entered the rec room, closing the door behind him.

"We need to talk," Lisbon said.

"I agree."

"I don't want to give you the case files."

"Why not?"

"Because of the reason you're asking for them."

"What? Because I miss working, because I want to help?"

"You know what I mean. You wouldn't be asking if you weren't afraid—"

"The fact is, I'm asking. Do you want my help or not?" He saw her hesitation, her doubt.

She shook her head. "I don't know, Jane."

"I'm fine, Lisbon. I can read case files. Just, no pictures."

"You'll promise you'll quit if it gets too much? _Before_ it gets too much?"

"Yes."

When she let go a sigh, he knew she would allow it. But his relief at her willingness to let him stick his toe back into the case was soon waylaid by a sudden uneasiness over whether he was really ready to do so.


	27. Chapter 27

_So sorry for the long delay. A lot of work and hot dates interfered with the creation of this chapter. It's longer than usual. Hope that makes up for the delay. :) And the ending is in sight... very clearly in sight. _

* * *

Lisbon watched Jane retreat to the laundry room with the sinking feeling that she had just made a very bad decision. That was her gut reaction and no amount of arguing from Jane would ever change it, the miniscule gray area between her black and white thoughts be damned. She headed into the rec room wondering if there was a plausible way to back out of the decision without causing him anymore pain or anxiety. The way he had threatened to leave frightened her in its immediacy and force. It reminded her of Kristina Frye, the way he had threatened to quit if Hightower brought her in on the Red John case. Clearly he'd been threatened then as he was now with his mother, and come to think of it, Kristina did look rather similar to Patricia, the casual style, the wavy, long hair. That was weird.

He had clearly expected her to bring Patricia in if they ever got to a point of trust. Of course. If he thought his mother's skills were that good based on what he read in her journal, he would have anticipated the need of them in his absence from the Red John case. And now he wanted back in on the case.

"You okay, boss?" Cho asked.

Lisbon looked up to see her whole team watching her. She was leaning against the pool table so deep in thought she hadn't realized she'd drawn their attention. "Yeah," she said.

"Jane okay?" Cho asked.

She realized that she and Jane would have been visible on the monitor covering the rec room door and that Cho had passed through their conversation during a heated moment. She saw their concern and decided it would be a good thing to keep them in the loop. That was her gut reaction, dammit. "No," she said. "He's not." She pushed off the pool table and went over to them.

"Listen, Jane is…" She didn't know where to begin.

"We know," Cho said.

"I know you know," she said, "but it's actually worse than that. He's finding some things out that are throwing him off in an even bigger way than when Patricia first showed up. You know, it's not good. It's not good at all and I'm very concerned for him." God, she was never going to get his chastising voice out of her head about the good/bad thing. "Listen, I'm going to tell you as much as I can without betraying his trust, because he has confided in me in a way that I have to respect. You know Jane. You all know Jane and you know how… private he is, but I think you need to understand the context of what is happening. Because I'm going to be making decisions based on that context and those decisions might not make sense without it."

And so she went on to tell them the broad strokes of Jane's situation. She told them of the room in his memory palace that explained his memory loss, she told of his father, of the journal and Patricia's insights. She told them to understand the information for what it was and then never speak of it again.

They nodded their assent. They were a good team, loyal and hardworking and kind.

She had Van Pelt get the case files together for Jane, removing all the crime scene photos. Cho came to her and asked if he could make a grocery run. Patricia had made some requests.

"She wants to cook some meals," he said. "She also wants to get in touch with her husband. She wants to Skype him when he is available. She needs a computer to do all that."

"Okay," Lisbon said. "We'll figure something out."

When Van Pelt brought the files over for Lisbon, Van Pelt said, "He's lucky to have you. I mean, it's obvious he really needs you right now."

Lisbon looked up at her and saw real sincerity. Whatever it was with Jane, and Lisbon had no time or inclination to define what it was, the one thing that made her uneasy about the turn they had taken was the perception of the team and the feelings of Van Pelt and Rigsby in particular. Lisbon took the files and said, "Thank you."

"That's a big deal for him to even consider his mother might be a psychic. How is he taking it?"

"I haven't had time to really discuss it with him."

"She could be helpful. She was very accurate in the cases I read of hers, and, like I said, she knows things that are too specific to be explained by observation."

"That's what Jane is afraid of," Lisbon frowned.

"Oh, right," Van Pelt said. "Well, don't worry about us, boss. He needs you. All of us down here get that. You don't need to worry about us."

A lump formed in Lisbon's throat and she swallowed. She had a great team. She nodded, thankful. "Can you get that laptop cleaned up for Patricia? And then set it up so we can track everything she does?"

"Yes. So you still don't trust her?"

"I'm not taking any chances."

"Got it. Totally understand."

Lisbon headed out for the laundry room with the case files. She found Jane stretched out on her cot, arms and ankles crossed, eyes shut. She could tell by the tension in his face that he was not sleeping. As she got closer he opened his eyes and watched her coming.

She nudged him over to make room to sit comfortably. "I'm doing this against my better judgment," she said and held the files out for him.

He uncrossed his arms and took them and then grabbed her hand in his, pulling it to him, and resting it on his stomach.

They considered each other for a long moment that stretched out longer still. Lisbon waited for him to say something but he held her hand and her gaze wordlessly. The lazy circles he rubbed on her hand with his thumb began to have an effect she couldn't really afford at the moment.

"I've got to go, Jane."

"Okay."

She squeezed his hand before letting go and standing. "I'll be back, okay?"

"Okay."

* * *

Jane watched Lisbon leave before he sorted through the files. He would start at the beginning with the Lodi case. Lisbon had given him the background checks on all the families and interviews with their neighbors and colleagues.

Michael and Susan Powell were the proud parents of 5-year-old Sarah. Michael worked as an auditor for the State of California Franchise Tax Board in Sacramento, essentially dealing with income tax fraud. Susan Powell had given up a career as an event planner for the Lodi Winegrape Commission to stay home with Sarah and was a founding officer of a preschool cooperative that was slated to expand into a charter elementary school. Little Sarah was a budding Suzuki violin student who also dabbled in ballet and tap dance. The neighbors had mostly positive things to say, though Michael had ruffled some feathers in the HOA by insisting that all rules be followed to the letter. One homeowner had to remove some expensive landscaping because the flowering shrubs were not on the list of approved foliage. Another had to change the color of the exterior paint halfway through the job for the same reason. Another was denied a play structure for a backyard that couldn't be seen from the street.

Gary and Gayle Malone ran several hedge funds out of their palatial home in Stockton while raising 4-year-old Abbie on a steady diet of gymnastics, acting, singing and ballet classes. Their swimming pool and cabana in the backyard was the crown jewel of the neighborhood and their summer barbeques for their neighbors were the stuff of excessive legend. Only two of their hedge funds had imploded in the financial meltdown, and the other four had carried them seamlessly through the following storm. Gary had been in San Francisco for a full day of meetings with investors when Red John struck.

Steve and Renee Osgood were both teachers in the troubled Los Angles school district and their financial insecurity was spilling over into their personal lives. 4-year-old Claire had been taken out of the trendy Montessori school in West LA and put into a Lutheran co-operative just months before. Both Steve and Renee were moonlighting, him as a private basketball coach to first and second graders and her as a private reading tutor at an after school enrichment center, and both were desperately seeking summer employment. Friends said the marriage suffered from the stress and arguments were increasingly visible through the noticeable tension between the two. They had sold their second car and were commuting together, which added a lot of daily logistical issues. Their house was in foreclosure and they had received credit counseling as a first step towards bankruptcy. Renee had stayed home that day with a sick Claire.

Jane did not read Lorelei's file but placed it on the floor with the others he had finished. Michaela Jackson's was the last. He opened it to see the smiling face he'd seen in the CBI kitchen when Patricia had flipped it open. She was the oldest of three children born to Kurt and Renee Salazer of Bakersfield. No connection between the Osgoods and the Salazer's had been found. Michaela had disappeared between her bus stop and home, a mere three blocks that were full of cars and children and adults. No one had seen anything. The Osgoods' babysitter was supposed to meet Michaela, but had been running late due to the twin toddlers having a meltdown and refusing to get in the stroller.

He closed Michaela's file and dropped it on the floor. He had read the files as dispassionately as possible, trying to root out any common thread between them all. But he had nothing. The wealthy families he could understand, but why the Osgoods? Why Michaela. They all seemed random and as unplanned as … as last minute as… Jane couldn't help but remember his own shock at the discovery and he didn't have to wonder what the husbands were feeling right now. Or the babysitter. And a sudden wash of sorrow came with the memory. He turned onto his side and thought how they'd all be feeling guilty for nothing, because, really, it was his fault. All of it. All those families decimated because of him. All the sweet little girls who wouldn't grow out of the pink tutu phase, who would have been fast friends with Charlotte, would have fallen right in with the troupe of girls that had raced through the house in pink ballet slippers and black leotards, begging for more TV or cookies or apple juice, for another pony ride on his back or swing on the swing set.

Jane wiped his tears, thinking this is what Red John wanted him to feel. Part of him wanted to resist, to believe what Lisbon always told him, that he was not to blame for the horrible things Red John did, but in the end, he couldn't. If he stood before any one of the husbands right now, he knew they would all want to kill him for his part in the murder of their wives and daughters. If he were one of them, that's what he'd do.

He didn't hear Lisbon coming, but he felt her hand on his face, felt her climbing onto the cot to pull him into an embrace. She fit so well and he pulled her tight, buried his face into the space between the pillow and her cheek. He didn't know how long he'd been there crying quietly, but almost as soon as Lisbon melted into him, his body and mind relaxed. He let go a long pent up breath.

The next thing he knew he heard his mother working at something on the stove and before he could open his eyes he already guessed what it was she was making: Stone Soup. She only cooked it at special times and the thick brothy scent of it in the tiny trailer made his waking pleasurable. He heard her clanking the metal lid on the pot in a light rhythm.

"Wake up, Patrick. Wakey, wakey, I know you're awaky."

Between the delicious smell of his favorite soup and his mother's teasing, he couldn't help but smile even though he kept his eyes closed. He always had hard naps and waking up was a slow and groggy ordeal he didn't like.

"Wake up, Patrick, we've all brought something to put in the soup. We need you to make sense of it. Wake up, Patrick."

He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to suppress his smile, trying to breathe like he would if he were still asleep. Eventually she would come and try to coax him awake with light tickles and whispered jokes and soft kisses on his cheek that he pretended not to like.

But the lid slammed down on the pot and his mother's frightened whisper was spoken right in his ear: "Patrick, wake up!"

Jane startled awake. He turned onto his back to get his bearings. He was on the cot in the laundry room. Lisbon was gone, but the smell of his mother's soup was ever present. The smell was real. His mother was upstairs. Was she really cooking that old soup? He thought about his dream. It was so vivid, like he'd been transported back in time, but the message from his mother was annoyingly loud and clear.

He thought about her journal, the questions she had, the way she looked at him like he wasn't anything she had expected. Anger rose with that thought. Why would she expect anything different of him anyway? Why did she seem to expect more? He thought about that moment in the CBI kitchen when she thought he knew something about Michaela Jackson's case and how confused she was when he demanded to know how she knew the child found with Lorelei was actually Michaela. What he had thought was a card trick, might not be one after all. Maybe she could make those connections without any empirical evidence. But she always seemed to imply that he was like her. Hadn't she said he was better than her? The student had surpassed the teacher? Now that he thought of it, he saw how she was treading lightly with him, like she definitely had an agenda and she was patiently nudging him to catch up. But where did she want him to go? And why?

Sitting up, he saw Lisbon had left the case files on the floor where he had dropped them. It bothered him that he had seen nothing, that he didn't have anything to follow up on. The Osgoods seemed the anomaly, like Michaela. None of it made sense and Red John never did anything that didn't make sense on some level.

His stomach growled. The soup aroma had permeated the entire basement and the memories associated with the smell brought his thoughts back to his mother. She had offered to help. Why not take her up on it? Why not make her perform her act without any clues just to see what happens? The old blindfold act but without the assistant.

He gathered the case files and headed for the kitchen. As he rounded the stairs at the front door, he heard the TV in the living room on a sports channel. When he got upstairs he saw Ryan stretched out on the couch watching a soccer game. Patricia was loading the dishwasher in the kitchen. She looked up and smiled when he came in and set the case files on the island.

"There's soup if you're hungry," she said.

He didn't answer, but watched her worked. His dream had reminded him of their life together, the coziness of the trailer where the kitchen was right next to his bed that turned into the kitchen booth with a few clever flips.

"Are you hungry?" she asked stopping to look at him.

"You did that on purpose," he said.

"Did what?"

"You made that soup on purpose. You're trying to manipulate me." He hadn't realized this until just that moment.

"No, Patrick. I'm just trying to help you remember."

"Why does it matter if I remember anything? There's nothing that happened back then that has any bearing on my life right now."

"How would you know that if you can't remember any of it?"

She had him there.

"But you do remember something." She was reading him. "No, you remember that you did something." She frowned, confused. "What did you do, Patrick?" she asked, and then as an afterthought said, "Besides read my personal journal?"

She really had him there and she smiled slightly at the look on his face. "I always knew when you got into my things."

"How did you know that?" He had left it precisely where she had.

She had that look again, like everything about him was unexpected. She considered him before saying, "Do you remember that old cat Chloe that we took in?"

Chloe was a long-haired gray tabby cat who was already ancient when Patrick found her sleeping in the cab of his dad's truck one night in Terra Haute, Indiana. He named her Chloe, though she answered to nothing but the sound of a hand-cranked can opener on metal.

"For weeks after she died, we'd catch glimpses of her darting around corners, never full views, just traces of her out of the corner of our eyes. It's like that. You always left traces of your sneaky self, and, apparently, you still do."

He frowned skeptically.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

"I wasn't looking for anything in particular."

She smiled sadly. "It's very odd for me," she said, "to have the memory of knowing you so well at the same time as knowing I don't know anything about you. But even though you don't really remember me, I would say we are both looking for the same thing. It's not manipulation, Patrick. It's curiosity."

He studied her and saw nothing but resigned honesty. She reached up into one of the cupboards and pulled out a bowl, holding it out for him. He took it from her and went to look into the soup pot on the stove.

"Do you remember what we called it," she asked, coming up and standing next to him.

"Yes. You only made it on special occasions."

She looked at him. "Yes, the in-between-towns-and-there's-not-much-in- the-cupboard occasions."

He looked at her and realized what she had done. "It was my favorite soup."

She smiled. Then her brows came together in a question: "Why do you remember that?"

"I dreamed about it." He reached for the ladle and filled his bowl, taking it back to the island. She brought a spoon to him and stood leaning against the island, watching him.

"You know why you can't remember, don't you," she said.

He held a spoonful of soup before him. "Yes."

"You made yourself forget."

He put the spoon down in the bowl. "No, not really."

"What did you do, Patrick?" She almost whispered it, the concern obvious in her voice.

He hesitated. He knew if he told her he'd be revealing his entire hand, and that never felt like a good idea, no matter who it was. Not even Lisbon. He had once told Lisbon that she got about 30% of his truth, and while he knew that percentage was about to change, he doubted it would ever go to 100%. Looking at his mother's questioning eyes, he saw that even if he only gave her 30, she'd figure out the other 70 quickly.

"I put you in a room in my memory palace and then I locked the door," he said.

He saw her shock of realization play across her face and settle into amazed disbelief. "You were such a clever boy," she said. "No one knew you did that, did they?"

"No one knew anything about me from that point on, except Angela," he said.

"And she didn't know what you had done, what you had gone through."

She was right. Angela had known everything about him from age 14 on, but he had never told her anything about his mother. "No."

Patricia nodded, then thought of something. "What was happening when your father told you I was dead?"

"What?" Jane saw no connection between her questions.

"I mean, what was going on, in general. What was happening in your life?"

Jane thought about it. He was 15 when his dad told him out of the blue. The only thing happening at that time was him being head over heels in love with Angela. "Angela was happening."

"Ah. That made Alex nervous, I bet."

"I don't know. Her parents ran the big metal. He was respectful of that."

"You were in love with her. He would have seen it as the threat it turned out to be. Who were her parents?"

"The Ruskins."

"Oh, well, that explains it. The Ruskins were carnie royalty. His hands were tied. How's that for karma?"

Jane had no answer. At the same time that he marveled at her acuity, he was hyper aware that he seemed always 15 steps behind her.

"Have you ever considered that the reason you still grieve your wife and daughter so strongly is because you never allowed yourself to grieve the loss of me?"

"I don't want to talk about that," he said. He pushed the soup bowl away. He had come upstairs for a reason and she had made him forget.

"Oh, I'm sorry. No, eat your soup." She pushed the bowl back to him. "I'm going to just finish the dishes." She went back to filling the dishwasher. Apparently the rest of the team had already eaten.

Jane lifted the spoon and slurped the broth, testing the temperature. It had cooled off enough to eat in earnest and he did, realizing that he had not eaten anything at all that day. The soup was as good as he remembered it and he began wondering at something she had said that didn't make sense.

"Why would my father tell me you were dead just because I had a serious girlfriend?"

"You were the whole act by then, weren't you?"

"Yes. So?"

"Alex was all about total allegiance. If you were shifting allegiance to Angela, killing me off would at least leave him as the only family you had in the world."

Jane saw the logic, as pathetic as it was. His father's greatest flaw was that he could never truly see anything from someone else's point of view unless it was part of a con, pure performance. He never understood that his son saw the world differently and had always believed loyalty had to be earned. A shared blood line would never trump that in Jane's world. Unless it was his child. A child trumped everything. That was something else that made him different from his father.

Rigsby came in the kitchen with an empty soup bowl in hand. "That was amazing, Mrs. Steiner," he said.

Patricia smiled at him and teased, "Are you sure you got enough? You still look hungry."

"Well, now that you mention it…"

"There's plenty there," she said, waving him over to the stove. "And, please Wayne, call me Patricia."

Rigsby smiled. "Yes, ma'am."

Patricia looked at Jane and tilted her head quizzically and Jane couldn't help but grin back at her. She had a talent of drawing people in, that was for sure.

Rigsby filled his bowl and as he turned to go, said, "Oh, Lisbon said to say she'll have a laptop up here for you shortly."

"Thank you, Wayne. I appreciate that."

Jane raised his eyebrows at Rigsby as he passed, and Rigsby shot a defensive "What?" look back at him before leaving.

Patricia finished loading the dishes and closed the dishwasher. Jane heard the TV behind him moving through the channels at a lazy pace. With nothing to do, Patricia leaned against the sink counter and looked out briefly to Ryan and the TV before looking back to Jane. "Yes?" she asked.

"What?"

"You want something."

He pushed the soup bowl away. "Yes."

"Just ask, Patrick."

He slid the case files in front of him. "I want you to humor me," he said.


	28. Chapter 28

Lisbon watched with bemusement as Rigsby juggled an obviously hot soup bowl while trying to close the rec room door behind him. She'd spent the last three hours getting updates, such as they were, from Stanton, fielding calls from both Bertram and Kirkland, holding Jane until he fell asleep, and wading through the interviews of all the people between the bus stop and Michaela Jackson's home. She was exhausted and Rigsby's antics were a nice comic relief.

Door safely closed, Rigsby carried the bowl back to his desk with his fingers holding only the top inch awkwardly.

"You okay there, Rigsby?" she asked with a concerned grin as he passed her.

"Yeah, boss. Just getting seconds," Rigsby said. "I told Patricia the laptop was on its way."

"Van Pelt, how you coming on that?" Lisbon asked.

"Almost ready. Just checking on a few things."

"Jane's up there with her. He actually seems okay," Rigsby said.

"He's upstairs?"

"Yeah. In the kitchen."

"With Patricia? Really?"

"Yeah."

"Went up about twenty minutes ago," Cho said.

She stood. That was weird. He'd just cried himself to sleep a couple hours before and Lisbon couldn't imagine him waking up and going straight to Patricia. "I better go check that out."

"No, really. He seemed totally fine."

"That doesn't necessarily mean he is," she said, frowning. "Van Pelt, can I take that with me?"

Grace looked up. "Yeah. Let me just close these windows."

"Cho, come with me. I want you with the laptop at all times."

"Got it," Cho said.

When Lisbon and Cho headed upstairs they found Ryan was still lounged out with the TV watching a Japanese game show. In the kitchen, they found Jane at the island with the case files Lisbon had given him spread out before him and Patricia leaning against the island looking at them with some concentration. Cho went and set the laptop on the counter.

"What are you doing, Jane?" Lisbon asked. She was alarmed about the case files.

Jane turned and looked at her. She saw his surprise at seeing her soften into something like relief. "Hi."

She came and stood next to him. "What are you doing with these up here?" she asked.

"I'm just playing a game with Patricia," he said.

"I don't think case files are anything to play with, Jane," Lisbon said. She was starting to get pissed he had brought them upstairs, let alone have them laid out so openly on the kitchen island. Surely he hadn't let Patricia see anything inside?

"Patrick is testing me," Patricia said.

"You're familiar with the blindfold act, aren't you Lisbon? Well, that's what this is, but instead of a blindfold, we've got closed files. No assistants."

Lisbon frowned. "Jane, can I talk to you?"

"It's okay, Lisbon. Patricia says she wants to help."

"Oh, really? And when did that suddenly become okay?"

"This is a controlled test, Lisbon. She can't see anything. There's no one here helping or distracting. What's there to lose if she makes a connection?"

"Jane—"

"What's going on?" Ryan asked as he came in and went to stand by his mother.

"Nothing is going on," Lisbon said. "Jane and I need to talk."

Cho casually pushed off the counter and positioned himself strategically near Ryan.

"Agent Lisbon, I'd like to try. I think I can be of help," Patricia said.

"No offense, Patricia, but this is not Jane's call. I don't know what he's set up here, but this is not how the CBI operates."

"Lisbon—"

"No, Jane, this is not a carnival act. These files are not a deck of cards."

"I'm not treating them like that."

She heard the hurt in his words, but she was too alarmed at his using the victim files to test his mother. "You cannot use these to prove or disprove her abilities," she said with finality.

Ryan laughed. "Seriously," he said. "_That's_ what's going on here?"

Lisbon and Jane both looked at him.

"Ryan," Patricia said distractedly, like a vague warning she wasn't fully committed to. Lisbon saw she was concentrating on the files, looking at each one, moving back and forth between them all.

Ryan spoke directly to Jane. "What? The 'skeptic' doesn't believe the hundreds of cases she solved? You have to test her yourself before you'll believe?" He laughed again. "Yeah, I think I called it."

"Ryan, stop it." Patricia was still distracted, her admonishment only half-attended.

"And what, exactly, did you call?" Jane asked.

"You're an asshole."

"Oh." And now Jane was laughing.

"Jane," Lisbon groaned.

"So you've inherited your mother's gift _and_ eloquence. Impressive."

"Shut up, Jane," Lisbon said. "God, both of you just shut up." God, she wanted to punch them both.

Jane smiled and chuckled his pleasure, a stark contrast to the murderous countenance Ryan was trying to control.

"There is a connection between them," Patricia said, still staring at the files. "You are frustrated because you can't see the connection, but it's there. They are related. The first three are very related. The last one is the anomaly."

She had their attention.

The smile on Jane's face disappeared. "That's pretty obvious," he said. "Anyone watching TV could see that."

"Patience, Patrick. You were never very good at that." Patricia looked up pointedly at him before returning her concentration to the files.

Lisbon saw Jane harden at the reprimand, but he didn't have a comeback. That was interesting. He wasn't flying off the handle with his mother anymore. He wasn't completely taken in by her either, but what was most interesting to Lisbon in that moment was the possibility of there being someone in the world that could get Jane to behave himself. She looked at Patricia. The woman might have some powers after all, more than even she knew she had.

"The connection is very specific. It's personal. It's petty. The first three are not really about you, Patrick. He just made them that way because he's angry at you too. But it's really about money. It's about the loss of money."

Patricia looked up at Jane. "The last one. The one here in Santa Clarita—that was about you. You were the woman's lover, but you didn't care about her. You were using her. You ruined something …"Patricia raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Oh." Then she quickly shook off what had surprised her and said, "Michaela was the only random victim. She was needed to complete the tableau."

Lisbon saw Jane calculating her words behind his poker face.

Patricia turned to Ryan who was looking derisive. "Don't say it," she said sternly enough to shut Ryan completely down. He frowned but kept his mouth shut.

"We need more than that," Jane said. "What about the money?"

"The three families are all tied to his loss of money. The two wealthy families are more directly related."

"Is he done?" Jane asked. "Did the killings satisfy his anger?"

Patricia looked at Jane with tenderness. "I don't think so. He feels very unstable. I mean, more than usual for that sort of man."

"Is that all?"

"Is that all?" Ryan asked, incredulous. "She'd probably tell you where the guy is having coffee if she could see inside the files. You know, maybe go to a crime scene."

Patricia turned to him. "Ryan, don't. You don't know what's going on here."

Lisbon reached in front of Jane to collect the case files. "Kid, your mother may have established herself elsewhere, but she has not established herself here. We're not in the habit of opening case files for just anyone."

"She's not just anyone," Ryan said.

"No, she's not. She's someone who made a career of not finding her first born son. This isn't about her ability to close cases. It's about our ability to trust her." She had all the files in hand now. "Jane, I need to talk to you."

She turned and left the kitchen, Jane following close behind. They had almost cleared the dining room table, headed for the bedroom, when Patricia called out, "Patrick." They stopped and looked back, watching as Patricia walked to them.

She approached with an obvious deference. "I do understand you don't trust me," she said to Lisbon before turning to Jane, "but I am not doing anything that you can't do yourself, Patrick. If you visit that room in your memory palace, you will find that you locked up more than just me."

Lisbon looked at Jane, more shocked at his having told Patricia about the room than at what Patricia was implying. Jane remained as impassive as if his mechanic had just told him the Citroen needed an oil change.

"Cho is going to help you get in touch with your husband," Lisbon said to Patricia. Something had definitely changed between the two and it made Lisbon uneasy.

"Thank you," Patricia said.

Lisbon touched Jane's arm and turned back for the bedroom. He followed her down the hallway and when they reached the door, she pushed it opened for him to enter first. He hesitated, searching her face for clues, but she had so many thoughts running riot in her head she doubted he'd find any that made sense. He stepped in front of her and entered. She followed, closing the door behind them.

"Why are you so mad?" he asked. "You were the one who wanted to bring her on the case."

"I did not—" She cut herself off. "I'm sorry, I'm still trying to get over the shock that you would even pull that stunt out there after threatening to leave just a few hours ago if she was brought in. And then telling her about why you don't remember her?"

Jane frowned and turned away. He walked over to the window. Sunshine spilled in through the slats. He was a rumpled mess, still unshowered, wrinkled shirt hanging out of his wrinkled pants, the bruise from Ryan's punch only slightly less bruised than from the night before.

She went and tossed the files on the bed. "What were you thinking?"

"I didn't think it was a big deal. What's the worse she can do looking at a few file folders?"

"What happened? When I left you, you were—"

"Nothing happened."

"You threatened to leave the CBI if she had anything to do with the investigation. And a few hours later you've got all the victim files laid out before her. What the hell, Jane? What is going on?"

"Well what about you?" he asked. "A few hours ago you were thinking about bringing her on and now you're acting like she really is a disciple of Red John's."

"I wasn't thinking about bringing her on. I was thinking about how we could determine if she was trustworthy."

"As a first step _towards_ bringing her on."

"An _important_ step that shouldn't be bypassed. I know I don't need to remind you that Craig O'laughlin nearly killed me and would have killed Grace if given the chance. Do I like your mother? Yes. Do I trust her completely? No. Do I want her anywhere near our case files at this point? _No_."

"She gave us some potential leads."

"And we'll pursue them. What happened, Jane?"

"Nothing." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I just…" He was embarrassed. That much was clear.

"It's okay, Jane. It's just me."

"I just want this to be over."

He went and sat on the edge of the bed. Lisbon watched and waited for him to say more, but he just sat there staring off into space.

She went and sat next to him, moving the files out of the way.

"The hedge funds that went south," he said.

"What?"

"The family in Stockton. They manage hedge funds. A couple of them imploded. You should get the list of investors in those."

"Right."

"And the husband from Lodi—he deals with tax fraud."

Lisbon had her phone out and was dialing Van Pelt. When she answered, Lisbon said, "Van Pelt, get the entire list of investors the Malones had in their failed hedge funds. Then get a list of the income tax fraud investigations in the state for the last five years. Start with any case Michael Powell was involved in, but if nothing pops, keep digging until something does."

"Okay, boss," Van Pelt said.

"She said the last family wasn't directly related," Jane said.

"Hold on, Van Pelt." Lisbon waited for Jane to follow his train of thought.

"Look for extended family who deals with money," he said.

"You get that?" Lisbon asked in the phone.

"Got it," Van Pelt answered.

"Let me know if anything comes up," Lisbon said and hung up. Jane was still staring off into space. "Those are good leads."

"Yes, it seems so."

"Are you going to tell me what happened or not?

He frowned, pulling out of his trance. "Nothing happened. I just learned some things I didn't want to and then I remembered something. I mean she made me remember something."

"She _made_ you?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"She cooked my favorite soup. I smelled it in my sleep and dreamed about it. She did it on purpose."

"And is that a good thing or bad thing?"

Jane looked at her, annoyed.

"You know what I mean."

"Smell is the most accurate memory recall tool. She wanted me to remember something nice about her."

"And did you?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"And I just thought after everything she had written in her journal and her offer to help that maybe I should take her up on it, in a very limited and controlled way. Just to see what would happen."

"And when did she make this offer to help?"

Jane didn't answer.

"Jane, you said you wanted to talk. I'm here to talk."

"I know."

"What was in that journal that's made you so uneasy?"

Jane looked at her. "She knew things that she shouldn't have known. There's no way she could have known—at least not the ones about me. I can't corroborate the others. At least I don't want to."

"The others?"

"Van Pelt. Cho." He looked away. "You."

"Me? What does she know about me?"

"It doesn't matter. I was just thinking that the test out there can't really prove she's psychic, even if the information all turns out to be right."

"Why not?"

"Because a Red John disciple would know all that."

"So we're back to that. I thought you'd dropped that."

"But why should we discount it? I discounted it because I thought she'd had a fuller, normal life, that she didn't fit the profile of someone who would be recruited by Red John, but she has apparently had times in her life when she did. Her most vulnerable time was between leaving the carnival and meeting her husband. Who says _he's_ not a minion? Bret Stiles is in Jakarta, isn't he?"

Lisbon's head was starting to hurt. A soft knock on the door drew her out of Jane's wheels within wheels scenario. She went and opened the door to Cho holding the laptop at the side of his leg.

"The husband is not available. Ryan wants to know if he can Skype his boss and girlfriend."

"He has a girlfriend, huh?" Lisbon thought about it for two seconds. "Tell him no, tell him he can send an email and you have to proof it."

"Okay, boss."

"And if the husband becomes available, I want you right there. Watch them for any sort of undercurrent or code language. Look for anything weird."

"On it." He turned to leave.

"And Cho, tell the others not to disturb us right now. I need to talk through some things with Jane."

He nodded and left. Lisbon shut the door and turned to find Jane had moved off the end of the bed and was now pacing around the room deep in thought.

God, she didn't know where to begin with him.


	29. Chapter 29

_The full Mature version of this chapter is posted over in the M section. This chapter is adult in content, but has been edited for a T rating._

* * *

Lisbon's hand on Jane's forearm brought him out of his thoughts. She pulled him to the bed, saying, "Come here," and climbing into it, turned to take him in her arms. He pulled her close and hugged her tight.

"You said you wanted to talk without distractions," she said.

He kissed her neck up to her jaw and earlobe. "But now I'm distracted by you."

She pulled back to look at him, grinning, but her lightheartedness soon turned to concern. "Tell me what's going on."

He reached up to play with her hair. "She confuses me. I've never been this confused before."

"I can't believe you told her about the memory palace."

"She knew I read her journal. She saw that I had made myself forget."

"Really."

"Yes. She's…"

"You believe she's psychic."

"She's very perceptive."

"Tell me about the journal. What is making you so uneasy about it?"

He thought about it. There were so many different parts to it and he hadn't had much time to digest it all. "Her inquiry is ... I'm not what she expected. It's almost like she doesn't recognize _me_."

"You said she knows things. What does she know?"

Jane frowned. Now that they were here, he didn't want to go there, there was no reason to. "It doesn't matter."

"You said she knew things about me."

"It's nothing. It's just guess work. It's not worth mentioning, really."

"Well, I want to know. Actually, I want to know more now because you don't want to tell me." She was looking at him like she was offended.

"I really don't want to tell you."

"I can see that. Why?"

"Because it's very private and if it's true, you will hate that I know it. If I don't tell you, we can both just forget about it."

"Okay, now I really want to know."

"No. You don't."

"Yes. I do."

"No. You don't."

Dammit, Jane, just tell me."

He frowned and sighed heavily. Then he pulled her close, tucking his face into her neck. "She said one time your father got very drunk and almost sexually assaulted you. You fought him off." He felt her stiffen in his arms. "He didn't remember doing it and you never told anyone."

Lisbon was stock still. She wasn't even breathing. Jane rubbed her back and tried to pull her closer, but she resisted, then pulled back and wiggled out of his arms. She sat up on the bed, her face registering the shock of his words. She shook her head in disbelief, then scooted off the bed and went to the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

No denial or confirmation was needed. Jane closed his eyes to rest until she was ready to come out again. He decided he did not need to confirm what his mother knew about Van Pelt or Cho. What she knew about him and Angela and now Lisbon was confirmation enough of her abilities.

When Lisbon finally emerged, she simply climbed into bed and let Jane pull her into him again. She didn't say anything and Jane waited, content to just be resting with her.

When she finally spoke, she said, "What did she know about you?"

"What?"

"You said she knew things about you that she shouldn't have. What did she know about you?"

"She wrote a lot about me."

"You know something about me that I would have never told you. It's only fair that you tell me something that she knows about you."

He saw that she had been wounded by the revelation and needed something to salve it, something to equalize what she saw as an imbalance between them. "From what I can tell, what she sees are moments that show an important aspect of a personality."

Lisbon searched his face. "The loss of Angela and Charlotte?"

"No, anyone can know that. She knew why Angela and I quit the traveling circuit and moved back to LA."

Lisbon frowned, not understanding.

"When I said I wasn't really Lothario-like back then, I meant that wasn't really who I was. But I did pretend to be that. It was part of the act. There were always more women at the shows than men, and the marks were easy to spot—the neglected wives, the single and looking, the widowed or divorced. A few would always come backstage afterwards to request private readings. I'd warm them up during the show so they'd be ready for … possibilities. They'd get backstage and I'd heat them up more, make them think things could lead somewhere, get them to pay ahead for the next "session" which, you know, never happened."

"Jesus, Jane."

"Angela knew it was only a matter of time before something did happen. We'd been married a long time. We weren't kids anymore. She knew if we continued the way we were it would be the end of us. She wanted to have a child and a real home and I couldn't imagine living without her, so I quit. We moved to LA and it was, well, it's a great town for frauds. I made a lot of money. We bought the house in Malibu. Charlotte came and everything was … for awhile everything was beautiful."

Every time he remembered this part of his life the wound reopened. Lisbon reached up and cradled his face with her hand, but he couldn't look at her. He wanted to finish, because he intuited that what his mother knew about him, what Angela had known, was important for Lisbon to know.

"But as Charlotte grew, Angela became more and more uncomfortable telling her what Daddy did for a living. It felt like lying to her and she didn't like it. She started pushing me to quit. And I balked. I had already quit once for her and I was doing so well. I was on TV. We lived very comfortably. I kept raising my rates and people flocked to me. I was devoted to her and Charlotte, why should I give up something that was working so well? What had she ever given up for me? My mother knew all of that. All of it."

"Okay," Lisbon said.

Jane looked at her. "Don't you see?"

She frowned in confusion. "No."

It was the part of the journal that disturbed him the most, the part that was still unformed, and Jane struggled to articulate it. "Angela wanted me to quit both times for the same reason."

"Because of the fraudulent life?"

"No." It was hard to say, hard to admit. "Because left to my own devices, I take things too far. That's what my mother wrote."

"Oh," Lisbon said. "That's true."

"She thinks I'm doing that with Red John. Going too far. And I don't have anyone in my life to stop me."

"I try. I try a lot."

"She wrote that the reason I haven't had any relationships since Angela is because I don't want to be stopped. I don't want to be questioned. I don't want to compromise."

"Oh."

"She was questioning things in her journal, like she knew I had done something, but she didn't know what it was… and she was trying to figure it out. She just figured it out. She figured out it was Lorelei."

"Oh, that. Yeah, that's true. You went way too far there, Jane, and you wouldn't hear anything I had to say about her."

"I didn't have to hear anything. We weren't … involved."

He saw understanding flash across her face and she took a moment to formulate her words: "We're not involved now."

"We're more involved than we used to be." He didn't know why he was moving into this territory, only that he suddenly wanted to know Lisbon's thoughts on the subject.

"I'm not under any illusions here, Jane. I know this is a necessary escape for you and it's a nice one for me, but I'm not going to pretend there is something more going on here. And, frankly, this is not the time for anything more anyway."

"Something more has been going on for awhile now. We've just chosen not to acknowledge it. For our own reasons. And this is not an escape for me."

He could see she was unsure, so he waited, curious where she would go from here.

"I'm not sure what you want me to say," she said.

"You could just ask me."

She frowned, confused. "Ask you what?"

"What it is for me."

She actually looked surprised. "Oh," she said. Surprise soon turned to fear or embarrassment or maybe even dread, Jane couldn't quite surmise.

"Just ask."

"Okay. What is it for you?" she asked hurriedly, annoyance now winning out over all else.

"It's a refuge."

Her face softened as she took in his meaning and the smallest smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

Jane moved in to kiss her, brushing her lips softly at first, getting her to respond. He went slow, enjoying the sweetness. He liked making her smile, but he liked making her pulse skip and her breathing hitch even more. He pressed harder, parting her mouth with his tongue, and she opened it willingly. Her willingness made him instantly hard and his hand began exploring the curves and dips of her body, roaming freely and without caution, becoming more insistent as her breathing became punctuated with soft moans.

"You like that, don't you," he whispered. His hand slid down to her ass and he pulled her to him, letting her feel his hardness.

"Yes," she whispered between kisses.

The thought that he wanted to get her to yes again and again, get her to say it with abandon whipped through his brain and pushed him to the frenzied activity of getting her clothes undone. He could barely see the buttons of her blouse, barely register that she was helping with her buttons, then his. Soon her bra spilled open, the unexpected surprise of it unclasping at the front. His hands were at her pants now and hers were on his and in a heated and heady moment he was free to his knees and he managed to get her legs free and he found his way to her.

* * *

It took some time for them to come back to themselves, and as Jane lifted off of her, the state of their half undress began to nag. He rolled to her side and she shifted to fix her blouse from getting further wrinkled.

"Jesus, Jane."

He helped her with the blouse. It had all happened so fast; he was still trying to catch up to any thoughts beyond how much like a teenager he felt. "I'm sorry," he said. "That happened so fast."

"No," Lisbon said. "No, that was incredibly hot." She put her hand on his bare chest, his shirt still half open. She sidled up to him, threw her leg over his.

"I feel like a teenager."

"Yeah. That's why it's hot. Patrick Jane with no control. That's really hot."

He turned and looked at her. She was smiling and it made him smile.

"You'll have to help me get it back."

"I'm not sure I want to do that."

"So this is how it will be? Always at cross purposes?" He lifted her hand off his chest and laced his fingers in hers.

"Mmm. Sure. That sounds like fun."

Jane reached in for a soft kiss. "It suddenly occurred to me that you are not concerned about the door being unlocked."

Her smile diminished to a mischievous grin. "Not in the least."

"So you planned this."

"Not in the least."

"That's a very impressive poker face," he teased.

"Oh, shut up and kiss me," she said.

She pulled on his hand and lifted her face expectantly, leaving him no option but to comply. And he did. Willingly. Very willingly.


	30. Chapter 30

_This is briefly adult in content, and the full mature version is over in the M section... Thanks to everyone for their reviews and encouragement. They are great motivation. :)_

* * *

Lisbon loved the way Jane kissed after sex. His lips were soft and sweet and on a languid mission to cover most of her body, but while Lisbon's body wanted to be indulged, her head was thinking they had already indulged enough for the middle of the day. She moved to stop him. He was currently working on her left shoulder and her hand on the back of his head made him look up at her.

"You want me to stop?"

"No. Yes. We really should…" She glanced over to where her pants had fallen on the floor.

He grabbed her hip and his lips went to her belly, kissing her once. "Okay." When she started wiggling to get up, he clutched her tighter. "Hold on." He sat up. "Just hold on." He pulled his pants up and zipped them before scooting off the bed. He lifted her pants and shook them, then surveyed the damage. "Not too bad," he said before draping them on the bed next to her. He found her panties and gave them to her, his eyes sweeping down her half naked body. "Let me get a washcloth," he said and went to the bathroom.

Lisbon heard the faucet running a long time, which meant he was warming the water. The last time a lover had gotten her a washcloth, he'd wetted it with cold water and then tossed it to her like it was a softball. When Jane emerged, he was far more attentive.

He lifted his head to look up at her. "You want me to stop?"

"Jesus, Jane. Yes." She sat up.

He smiled broadly as she worked to get her panties on. She expected him to interfere, but instead he crawled back into bed as she stood to get her pants back on. She tucked her shirt in, looking at him.

"I'm not sure how to take all this compliance," she said.

His smiled faded. "It would be different, Lisbon."

She buttoned her pants. "What do you mean?"

"I mean if we decided this was going to be something. I'd be different."

She scoffed. "Jane, don't say anything you can't back up."

"I'm serious."

"No, you're just being nice. I'm not going to pretend that just because we're having sex I will have more influence over you. You're too stubborn."

He reached out for her hand and said, "Come here." She took it and climbed on the bed, sitting up against the headboard and looking down on him. He was propped on an elbow and he dropped her hand to trail his along her hip and down her leg. "It's not about the sex or influence, Lisbon. Not really. It's what will get ruined if I go too far." He frowned and struggled to say what he was thinking. "Because that seems to be what's at the end of going too far. Something gets ruined."

"Oh."

"My mother thinks I need to be stopped."

"Didn't she say something was ruined? What was that?"

"She was talking about Lorelei. I ruined Lorelei for Red John." Jane looked uneasy. "But it could have ruined us. Me and you."

Lisbon raised her eyebrows. That was true. "It did change things. I don't have a sense anymore of how far you'll go."

"Do you think I need to be stopped?"

She thought about it a moment. "I think you've been stopped. I think Red John has stopped you cold, for now, but I am afraid of what you will do once you get your equilibrium back."

He nodded.

"Have you thought about what you're going to do? Or are you still not thinking about things?"

He looked away and shook his head.

"Your mother seems to think you have … some abilities. What do you think about that?"

He frowned and lay back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "I don't know."

Lisbon scooted down to lay next to him. "Have you gone to that room yet?"

"No."

"Why not?"

He closed his eyes and shook his head.

"I don't want to tell you what to do, Jane, but I do think you need to go there."

He turned on his side to face her, his eyes still closed, his hand reaching out for her. "I don't want to."

"Why not?"

"I've tried. I just…"

"What?"

His breathing was getting shallow and his face was crumbling into a pained expression.

"What is it, Jane? What's happening?"

"I try but every time I get close to the door, I just… I don't want to do it.

"Why not?"

"Because I feel like I'm 10 again and my mother has just disappeared and my father won't let me talk about it. I just feel all that sadness and I don't want to."

Lisbon reached out to pull him to her. She rubbed his back. "It's your grief. Nobody can avoid it completely, not even you, Jane."

"I think I've reached my lifetime quota on grief," he said. He opened his eyes and looked at her.

"The way it's supposed to work is that you feel it and then let it go. If you don't feel it, it just hangs around or comes out in some other way."

"It's never worked that way for me."

"No. It hasn't."

"My mother thinks the reason I still grieve Angela and Charlotte so strongly is because I didn't grieve her."

"That sounds very wise."

"I want to believe her. I want to believe she is who she says she is."

"I know. You would be incredibly lucky if it turns out that way. I would do anything to have my mother come back to me."

"It would be different for you. It would be a happy event. This is really painful. This is just …"

"I know."

"Why should I go back there? What's the point?"

"You don't have to, Jane. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. But it is an important part of your life that you just cut off. And from what I can tell, it was a pretty happy time. Why wouldn't you want to have more happy memories? And what if you did have abilities like your mother? I mean, didn't she say you were even better than her at such a young age?"

"I'm not psychic."

"Well, whatever. I think it would be beneficial for you to walk through that grief and go inside that room. I think what's on the other side of the door will be a whole lot better than what's on the outside scaring you away."

"You'll stay with me?"

"Of course." She pulled him tighter and he nuzzled his face against hers. She felt him let go a deep sigh and it was soon followed by more shallow breathing. Then he was crying. He was so quiet when he cried, just the sound of soft hiccupy breathing. He must have learned that after his mother left and the thought of him having to hide his sorrow made her sad.

"It's okay, Jane. Just let it out," she said. "It's okay." He pulled her tighter and she said, "It's okay. You don't have to be quiet." Soon he was crying for real, a low groan of sorrow punctuated with gasps for breath. She felt his tears on her cheek and she rubbed the back of his head, ran her fingers through his curls, down his neck, and every once in a while reminded him that everything was still okay. She held him until he was spent and his ragged breathing diminished to an occasional shudder.

Then she felt his body tense all over and he said, "I remember this."

"What is it?"

"The room," he said. "I remember this. She's here. I see her."

"Okay."

His pulled back from her and his hand went to his face to wipe the tears. He kept his eyes closed tightly and he was starting to get twitchy.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Um, yeah. It's just a lot. It's all there. I see her. She hasn't changed that much. But she's… happy. Happier." Upon saying this, Jane started to cry again.

Lisbon reached out and pulled him back to her. She felt him take in a deep breath and she could tell he was making himself stop crying. "It's okay."

"I see her. She's everywhere. There's so much here I can't, I can't …"

"What is it, Jane?"

His body tensed again and he pulled back violently. He opened his eyes and Lisbon saw absolute panic in them. "I want my Mom," he said.

"What?" Lisbon was shocked at his sudden turn.

"I want my Mom," he said more urgently, the panic in his eyes was more pronounced.

"Jane, you're scaring me. What's going on?"

"These are not my memories. They're not mine."

"What memories? The ones of your mother?" Lisbon was starting to panic, afraid she had started something that seemed suddenly intent on going to a very bad place.

"I want my Mom, Lisbon. Please go get her."

Lisbon hadn't realized that he _literally_ wanted his mother. She sat up, shocked.

"Please," Jane said, desperation now mixed in with the fear and panic.

She was off the bed and heading for the door in a heartbeat. She raced down the hall, and coming out into the living room, she saw Patricia sitting at the dining room table with Cho. They were looking at the laptop screen together.

As she passed Ryan on the couch, he rose and said, "Agent Lisbon—"

She didn't acknowledge him and instead called out, "_Patricia_."

Patricia and Cho both looked up, obviously startled. Lisbon couldn't tell if she was Skyping her husband or not and she didn't care. "Patricia, I need you to come with me right now."

Patricia stood, a look of deep concern on her face, and she immediately started towards Lisbon.

Cho stood. "Boss?"

"Stay here, Cho. I'll let you know if I need you."

"Okay."

When Patricia reached her, Lisbon grabbed her arm and led her back to the hallway, Ryan watching with some alarm. When they reached Patricia's bedroom, Lisbon opened the door and went in, Patricia following. Lisbon closed the door behind them.

"What happened?" Patricia asked.

"I'm going to give you the quick version, because he shouldn't be alone. He went to that room in his memory palace and now he is panicking and asking for you. I don't like that he's asking for you, but he is insisting."

"I'm not here to hurt him, Agent Lisbon. I want to help him," Patricia said. "What did he say? Why is he panicking?"

"He said the memories were not his. I don't know what that means."

Patricia took in a deep breath. "I do." She turned and opened the door, hurrying towards Jane's bedroom. Lisbon followed closely behind.

They found Jane curled on the bed grasping a pillow over his head. Patricia came up on the side of the bed he was facing. Lisbon came up on the other side.

"Patrick, I'm here." Patricia sat down on the bed and reached out to touch his hand that held onto the pillow.

Lisbon sat down behind him. "Jane, it's okay." She put her hand on his shoulder.

He said something, but the pillow muffled it.

"Patrick." Patricia waited a moment and when Jane didn't respond, she carefully pulled the pillow away until she was sure he could hear her. "I'm here, Patrick. Tell me what's upsetting you."

"I can't make them stop. They're not my memories and I don't want them."

"Tell me what you're seeing."

"I know which ones are mine and these are not mine."

"Tell me what you're seeing."

"I saw a man falling off a ladder. He hit his head and now he's not right. I'm _in_ his head, I'm him, and I'm hurting people. There's a woman and a young girl and I'm—" Jane's voice cracked and he stopped to catch his breath.

Lisbon rubbed his back, hoping he wouldn't go into a full blown panic attack again.

"That was in Des Moines, Iowa," Patricia said quickly. "His wife came to us after our act. You helped her understand that he wasn't going to get better, that she and her daughter had to leave."

"Stop it," Jane said. "I don't want this. Just make it stop."

His breathing went shallower, and Lisbon instinctively climbed into the bed and wrapped herself around him. She was sorry she had started this whole thing and she didn't know what else to do. His heart pounded against her chest.

"I taught you how to stop it when you were four or five," Patricia said. "Do you remember that?"

Jane shook his head. "_No_."

Patricia leaned over him, her hand on the top of his head. "You're right, they're not your memories. Not really. It's like when the mothership sends information down to the alien ship in a big beam of light, like that movie we watched. The alien ship had to open the portal at the top to let the beam of light in. And once it got all the information, it closed the portal. You just have to remember to close the portal."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he cried.

"Patrick, just listen to me. You have to visualize that there's a portal at the top of your head where all those images are coming in. You're portal is open and the light is beaming down into it. Just close the portal. Tell the mothership you've got everything you need and it can go now."

Patricia rubbed his head. "It's right here, Patrick. Just picture it here."

His chest expanded, pressing back into Lisbon as he took a big breath in and then let it go.

"Good. That's good. Now picture it closing. You're making it close. And it won't open again until you want it to. It'll never open again until you say so."

The tension in his arms and legs loosened and soon he was all lax in her arms. Lisbon hugged him tight.

"That's good, Patrick. That's all you have to do. You're in complete control of what information comes in."

Jane sighed deeply. He found Lisbon's hand and squeezed it, holding it tightly at his chest.

"You're capable of knowing much more than you do now, Patrick. I didn't understand why you relied on parlor tricks to close cases until today. But it all makes sense."

"I'm not psychic. There's no such thing. It's all snake oil."

Jane let go of Lisbon's hand and reached up to remove his mother's hand from his head. Lisbon watched Patricia. She was clearly thinking about how to reply and it took her some time before she finally said, "I know you think you are your father's son. You know all the tricks, Patrick. Inside and out. But if I had been there, if what happened never happened, you would have been able to clearly see the difference between me and your father. You would have seen that you are more your mother's son. Your father knew that. It's why he did what he did."

Jane took Lisbon's hand again, but didn't say anything.

"You are so hard on yourself, Patrick. Why is that?"

Jane didn't answer. Lisbon wanted to tell Patricia what she knew, how Jane always called himself a fraud, how ashamed he was of his past, and how harsh he was with all the frauds he encountered. She suspected that Patricia might already know that.

"Do you want me to stay," Patricia asked.

"No," Jane said, a bit coldly, and he seemed to realize this by adding, "I just want to sleep."

"Okay," Patricia said. She stood and slowly went for the door.

Lisbon whispered in Jane's ear, "I'll be right back." She went and followed Patricia out, closing the door behind them and walking with Patricia down the hall. When they were far enough away, Patricia stopped and turned to Lisbon.

"You'll stay with him?" she asked.

"Yes." Lisbon searched Patricia's face. There was much she wanted to ask her, but it wasn't as important as staying with Jane right now.

"Good. I'm glad he has you."

"Was that-? What was that exactly?" Lisbon asked.

"I think you know that already, Agent Lisbon," Patricia said.

"Well, why don't you spell it out for me, because maybe I don't understand all of it."

"He was very gifted as a boy. It has been difficult watching him operate without much insight," she said.

"So he could see what other people saw? He said he was in that guy's head."

"Yes, when he was very young, it was often like a waking nightmare for him. He was too young to understand what he was seeing. I taught him that technique out of desperation. But even at 8 or 9 or 10 he would bump up against some very dark souls. I don't blame him for stuffing that part of himself away. I wasn't there to help him understand, and it probably reminded him too much of me anyway."

"Is this going to … I don't know…" Lisbon wavered, unsure what she was most worried about.

"I don't know either, Agent Lisbon," Patricia said. "Patrick will have to decide whether he wants to recover his abilities or not. I do know that he would never forgive me if I were the one to help you find Red John. I would much prefer to help Patrick find his way back to his true nature and be rid of the monster that is torturing him so."

"And you would do that. You would help him find Red John?"

"Of course! I don't know what I can do to show you that I mean him no harm. I am his mother, Agent Lisbon. I lost a part of myself when I lost him —he was my whole life back then—and I have found him again. I would do anything to make things right, to help him find himself again."

Patricia was very nearly close to tears and Lisbon was suddenly tired. It was not often that she was at a loss over what should happen next. "I'm not going to pretend I know what he needs," she said. "But he needs something. He needs some solace."

Patricia looked at her quizzically. "You do know that you are providing that, don't you?"

"It's not enough."

Patricia leveled a look at her and smiled slightly. It was very Jane-like in its reproach and it made her question her perspective. Everything seemed so confused now. Sex always confused things. What was she thinking going along with that?

"You should get back to him," Patricia said. "He wants you there with him."

Lisbon pressed her lips together and sighed. She needed to let Cho know what was going on. "I'll let you know if we need you again," she said and then stepped around Patricia and headed for Cho.


	31. Chapter 31

_Thanks to everyone for their great reviews. I would say Jane being a psychic has struck a nerve. ;-0 _

* * *

Jane covered his head with the pillow and waited for Lisbon to return. He was tired and close to falling asleep, but he wanted to fall asleep with Lisbon wrapped around him. He didn't want to think about what had just happened, didn't want to think about what his mother had said, and while he kept his thoughts from drifting that way, he found they kept drifting back to the room that held all his memories of her.

Everything was just as he had left it and he could see her so clearly. He was amazed at how light and buoyant she had been—people genuinely liked her. The darkness she carried with her now was not there and he saw how she had loved her little family—even his father, even with all his endless cajoling and arguing to make her see things his way. She was not someone who ever took center stage, but people paid attention to her. In a world of showmen and women, of freaks and misfits, Patricia Jane quietly made her presence known. Because she didn't try to be heard, people listened. She reminded him very strongly of Angela.

He sorted through the memories like he was sorting through the rummage of a long-forgotten family estate. He returned to the childhood he had purposely forgotten and was awash with the pleasantness of it. Life with his father had always felt like some uneasy truce, some unspoken need to remain on his good side. Life with his father meant always having to prove something, always having to prove his worth just to remain in the fold. Life with his mother was just life. Life with his mother was an adventure…much of it of the mind. She had prodded and teased him a lot. She eased his many frustrations with the world—and he now remembered how many he suffered as a child—with wild speculations and fanciful stories that took them down many rabbit holes of absurdities. She took his childish fears of the mangy old lion Stin and turned them into a bedtime story of love and loss and betrayal and redemption that played out over a month. By the time she finished it, 6-year-old Jane was helping Mac, the gamekeeper, feed Stin every night.

He felt Lisbon climb into bed and take up residence behind him again, slipping her arm around him and pressing up against him. He slid the pillow off his head and she whispered in his ear, "Hey."

"Hey," he said.

"How you doing?"

"I'm tired."

"Go to sleep."

"Will you stay?"

"Yes. I'll stay until you fall asleep, okay?"

"Okay."

He closed his eyes and let his mind drift back to the memories. He remembered the games she played with him on the long trips in the cab of the truck to new towns, the time she took him and some of the other kids to see a Saturday matinee of Star Wars. And all the schooling. She was always showing him new things or helping him find some answer. Whenever he got close to something that seemed like what she was now trying to get him to remember, he'd veer off to another part of the room. Those memories didn't interest him in the least, and besides, there were so many other shinier baubles that caught his sleepy attention.

He woke to find Lisbon still wrapped around him, sleeping soundly. He smiled at the surprise of it. He slowly stretched out and turned onto his back gently so as not to startle her. She stirred awake as he turned onto his side and gathered her into him. He kissed her lips, her cheek, her earlobe, until he was nuzzled completely into her neck. She responded with a sleepy moan and lifted her leg over his, her arm slipping around him.

"You stayed with me," he whispered.

"Mmmf."

He bit her earlobe and she swatted lazily at him. "You stayed with me," he whispered again.

"Hmm."

"Did you mean to?"

"It was sort of decided for me," she said, blinking her eyes awake and lifting her hand to wipe her mouth.

"Oh, really." He kissed her again. "And how does that happen?"

"Mmm. I told Cho I would stay with you until you fell asleep. And when you fell asleep I got up to go downstairs and found my suitcase sitting outside the door with a note saying he would text me if the team needed me."

Jane smiled. Widely. He suddenly loved Cho more than anyone else on the team, save for Lisbon, of course. He was going to do something incredibly lavish for Cho-he didn't know what yet-but he was definitely going to show his love for the wonderful man named Cho at some point in the near future. "That's a good man," he said.

Lisbon smiled. "Yes, he is."

"That's a free pass."

"Yes, it is."

Jane was instantly hard at the thought of having her in his bed every night. He kissed her softly on the lips.

"Jane," she said before his next kiss.

"Yes?" He kissed her again.

"Jane."

He kissed her again. "Yes?"

She put her fingers on his lips to stop him. "Jane, just wait. We need to talk."

He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Uh, no, Teresa, we don't." He kissed her again, this time using his tongue to part her lips. She liked soft kissing and he softened his tongue to draw her in slowly.

She pulled back. "Uh, yes, we do," she said. She put her hands up to his face and held him at bay.

"Seriously? You want to take this free pass time and use it to talk?"

"Jane, some pretty serious stuff went down here and I think we need to talk about it."

He sighed dismissively.

"Yeah, see, that's a problem," she said. "Sex always confuses things and things were confusing enough before we went there."

Her words had the equivalency of throwing a bucket of ice water on his lower extremities. "I don't know," he said warily, "sometimes sex can clarify things."

"Look, I know you've had a lot to absorb in the last few days, but I'm still on the job. I can't just spend the day in bed with you not thinking about the case. We've got nothing, Jane. I don't want to see more women and children die because we can't figure out how to get that monster. We need to catch him."

He rolled onto his back.

"I'm sorry," she said. She slid her hand into the opening of his shirt and rubbed his chest.

"No, you're right."

"Jane?"

"What?"

"Did you go back to that room at all? Did you have any other memories?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember anything like what you saw before?"

"You mean do I remember being psychic? No. I don't."

"But you remember other things?"

He didn't answer right away. He knew what she was trying to do and he wasn't sure he wanted to let her. "I'm not a psychic," he finally said.

"So we won't call it being psychic, but you remembering seeing what you saw. Did you remember other stuff like that?"

He didn't answer.

"I talked to your mother," she said. "She said she wants to help you get Red John. She said you would never forgive her if she was the one to help get him."

His heart clenched at the thought of his mother, his memories of her conflicting with the reality of her.

"Jane?"

"What."

"Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"Do you remember any of what she says you could do?"

He felt Lisbon watching him and knew she was thinking about how to handle him. He sighed, giving up. "Maybe. There are some things in the room that I am avoiding. They all have a similar feel about them."

"Okay."

"Just say it, Lisbon. Just say what you think."

"Okay." She collected her thoughts before saying, "She said you are in control of letting the information in. I'm just wondering if you would want to test that."

He frowned and looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean open the portal just a little, see what comes through."

Jane was instantly buzzy at this suggestion. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and he got the same dizzy head spin as when he was first confronting the idea that Patricia was really his mother.

Lisbon's hand went up to his face. "Jane, why does that scare you?"

He closed his eyes and the full force of what he had seen came to him. "I was in that guy's head. I saw what he did to his wife, to his child, like it was me doing it. Lisbon, if you're asking me to get into Red John's head like that, I can't do it. I wouldn't survive that. If there's any chance of me seeing what he did to Angela… to Charlotte—like it was _me_ doing it—I would not survive. I would not _let_ myself survive that."

"Oh my god, Jane," Lisbon said and moved to pull him into her. "No, Jane, I didn't mean that." She wrapped herself around him, her leg going over his until they were completely melded together. "I didn't even think that was a possibility. I would never ask you to do that, Jane. I promise."

He held her tight, letting the adrenaline dissipate. Soon the question begged. "What were you thinking, if you weren't thinking that?"

She pulled back and looked at him, her hand coming up to his face. She softly thumbed the bruise Ryan had left. "I was thinking you could open the portal to your mother. Just see what you could see. Maybe see if our doubts are justified or not once and for all."

"Oh." He hadn't thought of that at all.

"I mean, the worst that could happen is you confirm our worst suspicions and we gain the advantage by _knowing_ the truth."

"Oh." It was a fairly brilliant idea, save for the fact that he'd be the one having to be inside his mother's head. That part gave him a good amount of pause. That and the fact that he really didn't want to have this ability in the first place.

"What do you think?" she asked.

She was right. If it worked, it could be a very quick and efficient way to allay their concerns. And he was tired of not being able to figure Patricia out. She was still, after three days, impossible to read with any satisfaction. All of her actions and explanations could be read as being the painful truth and yet he still felt as if an important, final, piece of the puzzle was still missing. If that final piece was Red John, Jane needed to know now, before he got any further involved with her.

"What if something happens again? What if I can't control it again?"

"She said you are in complete control of it and you have the most disciplined mind of anyone I know," Lisbon said.

The closer he got to actually saying he would do it, the more uneasy he became.

"I'll be right here, Jane. I can do what she did if things go screwy."

He sighed in defeat. He needed to try. Everything could just stretch out endlessly if he didn't, stretch out for another ten pathetic years and never any closer.

"Okay."

Lisbon's hand on his face moved to his neck and she pulled him to her. She ran her fingers through his hair. "Just focus on your mother. No one else."

He closed his eyes. "Okay." He visualized the portal he had created at his mother's suggestion. He told himself that he only wanted to know about her, nothing else. He saw the portal opening and light spilling through it and he had a vague memory of the cheesy alien movie his mother had mentioned, a vague memory of her consoling him after some nightmare. The portal opened wider and he pictured his mother. He told himself he wanted to know what tied the woman she was now to the one he had tucked away in his memories.

With that thought, he found himself transported into a small, dark place. He was small and very scared and the small, dark place was a familiar haven that was also a prison. His body hurt and his pants were wet with urine. A sliver of light at his feet suddenly opened wide. A door—he was in a closet and a man's hand reached in and grabbed him up by his long hair and yanked him out.

He opened his eyes. "Oh." He had never considered what her childhood had been like and a wave of emotions washed over him, emotions that were not his own. He felt her isolation, the absence of love, the brutality she had endured. Then he saw his father's smiling face and Jane understood immediately why she had fallen for him. He had cajoled her into wanting him under the barest pretense of a seduction and she had mistaken his attention for love.

"Are you okay?" Lisbon asked.

He closed his eyes and nodded. "Yes." He was in a room of cots filled with women and children now and people in uniforms and he recognized them as Salvation Army uniforms. He was on a cot and unable to get up, a heaviness pressing down on him, an overwhelming and all-consuming grief paralyzing him. Every time he saw a child it was like a knife stabbing in his heart. His chest had a hundred knives sticking out it and he should be dead from it, but he was not dead. A woman in uniform was trying to console him, but he could not be consoled.

Jane rolled onto his back and opened his eyes, suddenly realizing that while his mother's loss of her husband and child was not as brutal as his own loss, her grief was far more severe than his own. Her discovery that his father's love for her was conditional was a shock that thoroughly defeated her, made her believe all the cruel things her parents had berated her with as a child and teen, made her disavow her own self worth. The memory of the pure love she had felt for and received from him as a child was no solace—it served only as a traumatic reminder of her sudden loss of him. His own sorrow rose up at this and he quickly told himself he wanted to know about what happened next, how she got through that pain.

He saw her working menial jobs, living like the walking dead, renting a series of rooms, all of them small and dark until something shifted—a buoyancy returning, ever so slightly. The husband. And then Ryan. Love returned to her, but not to the same level. Jane saw clearly that her love for her husband and Ryan were tempered by her sorrow that she never completely overcame. Her love for Ryan did not have the same quality as her love for him. Jane was her first child, the child she had when she was still a child. The bond was deep and she did not share a similar one with Ryan, who took after his father and needed her much less than Jane had as a child.

"She's telling the truth," Jane said.

"Really?"

"Yes. She's not working with Red John."

"How do you know?"

"Her husband and son sustain her. Her life has meaning." Jane saw that her search for missing children was a little bit of an addiction, a way to fill the painful hole in her life where he used to be. "Red John attracts people who don't have that. Red John needs empty vessels willing to be used. She's not that." He was incredibly relieved to know this for sure. He turned to Lisbon, sliding his arm around her waist.

"Wow," Lisbon said. "And you're sure? Like no doubts?"

"I'm sure."

"That's, wow, that's—" She stopped herself. "So, what did you see?"

He saw that she was stopping herself from getting carried away, that she wanted more proof or assurance.

"I saw how it was for her. I … I know how she thinks or why, I don't know which. She's damaged, but she's… she found a way through it."

Lisbon was watching him. "How was it for you?"

He shrugged. "It was … I don't know. Weird. Vaguely familiar. Sad. I know why she didn't look for me."

"Really? Why?"

"She's… she didn't have a strong self esteem. She was badly damaged as a child." He understood her fear that he would reject her had been the most powerful obstacle, one she didn't think she would ever overcome. "She's better now, with age. She's a lot better."

"This is really good news, Jane," she said, her face showing her own relief. "And I don't just mean about your mother."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean if you really have this ability, Jane, well, it's, Jesus, it really is like a super power."

He frowned. "I don't want this getting out. I don't want anyone to know this."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't."

"You're embarrassed," she said with sudden surprise.

"Yes, it's a little embarrassing and I don't want to have to answer a bunch of annoying questions from people who will look at me like a freak. It was tedious enough when I was a fake psychic."

She smiled. "So no cape?"

He sighed.

She moved in and kissed him. "You're very cute when you're embarrassed."

In that moment he felt the depth and length of her love for him, a depth she couldn't even admit to herself for reasons she didn't want to acknowledge. He saw the way she hid things from herself and he saw why. He quickly visualized the portal closing shut tight. She would hate him knowing more things about her, though what he saw only confirmed what he had known for some time. Lisbon's love for him was far more complicated and buried than his love for her. At least he had always been aware of his, had protected it over the years in a way that made sense within the context of his situation. And even now, he knew they wouldn't be where they were, in bed, kissing, with plans to continue doing so, if not for the sudden arrival of his mother and, of all things, a brother.

She pulled back and looked at him. "Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" She looked worried all of a sudden.

"I'm fine. I'm just a little ragged around the edges."

"Do you need to sleep again?"

"No. I think I'll take a shower just to wake up more."

"Oh, okay."

"Care to join me?"

"I took my shower a long time ago."

"Yes, but you were alone. It will be far more interesting taking one with me."

She grinned. "I'm sure that's true, but I really should see how things are going downstairs."

"Fine."

"Your mother was planning a dinner for everyone. Will you come out for that?"

"She's cooking again?" he asked warily.

"She's bored."

"Cho got her better books than he did for me."

"Wells, it's nice to have home-cooked meals."

He couldn't stand it anymore. He slid his hand down to her ass and pulled her up against him. "I want to make–up for last time. I promise to make it worth your while."

"Oh, Jesus, Jane." Lisbon was instantly flush and her pupils were dilating.

"You do call me Jesus an awful lot," he whispered in her ear.

She put both hands on his chest. "Okay, there's no need to get sacrilegious. Jane, I really do need to check how those leads are coming."

He sighed and rolled on to his back. "Fine."

Lisbon propped herself on her elbow. "I'll be back," she said. Her hand on his chest began moving south. "And I'm holding you to that promise." Her hand found its destination and squeezed, making him groan. She released him with a smile and slid off the bed.

"Such a tease," he said.

She straightened her hair and then her blouse. "Eh. Just make it a cold shower. You'll be fine."

"A mean tease," he said.

She smiled sweetly at him before turning to go.

As he watched her go, Jane wondered how long it would be before he could safely—and without any risk of her fleeing—tell her he loved her.


	32. Chapter 32

Lisbon barely cleared the hallway before Ryan was up and off the couch saying, "Agent Lisbon, can I talk with you?"

She slowed but did not stop walking. "What?"

He followed, saying, "Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I really need to—"

Lisbon cut him off. "We've been over this. If you leave, the only place you're going is Brunei."

"You can't just do this," he sputtered. "I am willing to take the risk and you can't just keep me here."

She stopped. She had had enough of this kid. "I've already said you can leave anytime. But let's be clear on what you're risking if you do leave, because I'm not going to say it again."

Ryan looked like he was about to implode and Patricia stopped her work in the kitchen to come out and see what was happening. "Ryan?" she asked.

"This is bullshit," he said, turning to his mother. "I know why you're doing this," he said to her, "but that guy is not worth having to do this." He waved his arm out dramatically.

"Ryan, don't."

"No," Ryan said, "he doesn't even want you here. He treats you like crap and won't accept that you could take care of everything like that." He snapped his fingers. He turned back to Lisbon. "And you're letting him. My mom could get this Red John and we could all go home but you apparently don't want to use the best person for the job. He's had, what, ten years to catch that killer? Are we all going to have wait another ten before we can go home?"

"Ryan, stop it!" Patricia was angry now.

Lisbon clenched her teeth and her fist. The only reason she didn't deck him right then was because she knew he would bring charges.

"Agent Lisbon," Patricia said, "could you let me talk to my son in private?"

Lisbon stepped towards Ryan, getting right in his face. "Right now, kid, if you had the sense to play your cards right, I could be your best ally. But if you say anything, if you even hint to Jane that he hasn't done enough to catch Red John, I swear to God that I will be your worst enemy. You got that?"

Ryan did not flinch, but stood glaring back at her.

"Agent Lisbon, please," Patricia soothed.

Lisbon turned and left. She was still steaming when she entered the rec room and slammed the door. "I swear to God I'm going to kill that kid," she said.

Cho and Grace looked up at her. She shook her head and walked over to them. "What do we got?" she barked. "Tell me we got something."

"Not yet, boss," Grace said. "But I've got all the names of the investors in the hedge funds that the Malones managed. I'm checking them against the names of people in tax fraud and evasions cases the state has dealt with in the last two years. If nothing pops, I'll go back five years. We can expand it to everyone who has been audited if we have to."

"Good. Cho?"

"Steve Osgood's father is Yolo County Superior Court Judge Stephen J. Osgood. I'm getting all his tax evasion and tax fraud cases going back two years. Other than that, he's got a cousin who's a bank teller."

"Dig deep on the judge. Go back further if you have to," Lisbon said. Jesus, could it really come down to tax evasion? They'd get Red John because he thought he was above paying the tax man? "Where's Rigsby?"

"He's out checking the perimeter and all the entries," Grace said. "We've started a pool on when and how Ryan will try to escape. Do you want in?" Grace's doe-like eyes betrayed only the slightest glint of sardonic pleasure.

"Swear to God…" Lisbon said.

"How's Jane?" Cho asked.

Lisbon sighed. "He's… better. He's recovered his memory and he's more… grounded. He is convinced Patricia is not working for Red John, that she is who she says she is."

"Are you convinced?" Cho asked.

Lisbon thought about it. She'd already been half convinced by her own intuition regarding Patricia, and Jane's logical insight that Patricia did not fit the profile gave her the other half. But she had to acknowledge that they could never be 100% sure. Only time and experience could prove something like that. If there was one thing Lisbon had learned in all her time as a cop it was that people will always surprise you. You might think you know someone, but you never know what might trigger them to do something completely heinous or honorable or wildly out of character. Life was a crap shoot and all you could hope for was to be surrounded by people who chose to do honorable things. She was willing to trust Patricia to a point, but it would take time for her to trust her completely.

"I trust Jane's methods, for now," she said.

Cho nodded. "Bertram wants you to call him."

Lisbon frowned—speaking of needing to be convinced of someone's trustworthiness. She headed back to her makeshift desk and sat down. She needed to check in with Stanton too. She needed to collect her thoughts. She hadn't had a chance to sort out the latest developments and she began to question what, if anything, she should share with Bertram or Stanton. Jane's new _method_ was something she wasn't ready to share with anyone, and not just because Jane had asked her not to. It could very well be the wild card they so desperately needed and Lisbon wanted to keep it close for now. Maybe forever. And why not? Everyone already thought Jane was a psychic and his constant dismissal of psychics was seen as amusing at best and confusing at worst. He could carry on as usual without much notice, save for a faster close rate, if his insights turned out to be as accurate as his mother suggested. They could keep that super power to themselves. And really, if Jane could open his portal and get information like that at will… Jesus. There was no telling what he could do.

She quickly understood the danger of such a power. If he had not locked that ability up along with his mother at the time that he did, God knows what he would have done, what he could have done, in the ensuing years that followed.

She called Bertram. He picked up on the first ring. "Bertram."

"It's Lisbon, sir."

"Agent Lisbon, please tell me you have something. Anything." He spoke in that tone of his that suggested he was nothing but mildly invested in the answer, but Lisbon was sure that was not the case.

"I'm sorry, sir. We've still got nothing. I'm about to check in with Stanton again, but we're just coming up empty."

Silence. Uncomfortably long silence that Lisbon wasn't about to break.

"That's not like your team," Bertram said, his tone going to obvious annoyance. "What's really going on down there?"

"Sir, I assure you we are working round the clock following every lead. My team is on a five-hour work/sleep schedule."

"What about Jane?"

"Jane is… Jane is not doing well."

"Is he assisting? At all?"

"No. No yet, sir. Maybe not ever. I'm sure you can understand why."

"What about his mother? I saw the background on her. Can she assist?"

"No. She apparently has a narrow focus on children."

"Lisbon, I've got Homeland Security breathing down my neck wanting access to your investigation. My patience is wearing thin on this. Do I need to come down there and see for myself what your team is up to?"

"Sir, I can assure that we are doing what we always do, with or without Jane." Bertram knew the safe house was in Santa Clarita, but he didn't know where exactly it was, and Lisbon had gone to great lengths to make the rental as untraceable as possible. Finding a bug in her office was not something she took lightly, and Bertram's coziness with Kirkland was not to be ignored. He was on a fishing expedition, but she was going to do what she could to steer his boat to distant waters. "There's nothing to report. It's mostly just domestic discord down here."

"Oh. Not the happiest family reunion, I take it?"

"That's an understatement, sir."

"Alright, Lisbon. I want to be informed the moment you get something."

"Of course."

Lisbon hung up only to pick up and dial Stanton. She had some catching up to do.

* * *

Showered and dressed in fresh pants and a tucked in shirt that was only slightly wrinkled from the suitcase, Jane felt like a new man. A clarity of mind had returned and for the first time in years, he actually felt well rested. He was making the bed and wondering how he was going to fill the evening when he smelled it. Dinner. And once again his memories of the small trailer filled with the overpowering smell of his mother's cooking came back to him, lasagna this time. The vividness of his earlier dream was replicated now in a sort of waking dream.

He sat on the bed, waylaid by the memories of his mother's mothering. After 35 years of not remembering anything, Jane couldn't stop remembering everything. And it was too much. She was pushing this, intentionally creating ways to make him remember. Whereas her soup had been his favorite special meal, her lasagna had been his favorite regular meal and that was no coincidence. It sent him straight to his child self, that small body in the bed waking up, in the kitchen booth reading a book and waiting for dinner, at the stove watching her check to see if the edges of the lasagna were bubbling yet. While part of him wanted to be the child doted upon, another part of him rebelled.

He didn't need to be doted on. He'd spent the last ten years being entirely self sufficient and aside for what might (or might not) happen with Lisbon, he wasn't sure he could ever go back to the kind of domestic life he'd shared with Angela. His mother may have known him well for his first ten years, but it was Angela who had witnessed him growing up, who knew who he really was, who had doted on him endlessly. As he thought this, he realized how much he had changed since her death and he remembered the hallucination he'd had when a teenaged Charlotte had asked if anyone knew him now. And of course he had answered Lisbon. Just in the last two days, Lisbon knew more than Angela had ever known about him. The realization of this felt very odd, which brought him back to his mother and how entirely crazy it was that he even had to deal with having a mother again. And a brother. Seriously. A brother? And not just any brother, but one like Ryan.

A soft knock at the door was followed by Lisbon entering. "Hey," she said, closing the door behind her.

"Hey."

She walked towards him. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Dinner's ready. Patricia has Rigsby setting the table."

Jane grimaced.

"What's the matter?" Lisbon asked, coming and sitting next to him.

"She's doing it again. She's pushing things."

"What do you mean?"

"The dinner. It's lasagna."

"So."

"It was a favorite. She's pushing too hard."

Lisbon looked at him sideways. "I'd hardly call that pushing hard."

"Still. Just because I don't think she's working for Red John anymore doesn't mean I want her to be a fixture in my life."

"Fair enough. But it is just dinner. It's not like she's asking to take up residence in your attic room."

He shot her an annoyed glance.

"You look really good," she said, taking in his changed clothes. "You look like my Jane again."

"_My_ Jane?"

She smiled at him. "Come on. Come out for dinner."

He grimaced again.

"It actually looks nice. The table is set. There's salad and garlic bread and even dessert. A real family dinner."

"They're not my family," he said, finally hitting on what was bothering him. "You and the team are my real family."

Lisbon reached and took his hand. "I know," she said. "They may not feel like family yet, but they are."

She pulled on him. "Come on. It's just dinner. It's just dinner with _both_ your families."

Her lightness, her gentle insistence, drew him to her. Lisbon wanted him with her and he couldn't resist. She was right, it was only dinner. He'd go, not because Patricia wanted him to, but because Lisbon wanted him to. He'd be polite, he'd eat, he'd come back to bed, preferably with Lisbon. The evening suddenly had possibilities. He smiled at her with his best bedroom eyes and saw her respond with a grin and head tilt. Yes, he saw the evening definitely open up to some possibilities.


	33. Chapter 33

Patricia Steiner's heart was in her throat as she lifted the steaming lasagna dish out of the oven and placed it on the stovetop. While the lasagna was absolute perfection, Patricia's mood was much more a convoluted mess of warring emotions: sorrow and regret mixed with ecstatic happiness and anticipation was not something she had ever experienced at the same time. Her sons were dealing with their own mess of emotions, and Patricia did the only thing she knew to do that might bring comfort to everyone in the house—she cooked.

Ryan stood leaning against the island, defeated and angry, watching her with his arms crossed tightly in front of him. The lasagna, his hands-down favorite meal of hers, was no consolation, and Patricia had said quite enough to him already, so she left him to stew in silence.

Wayne came into the kitchen and dropped the extra napkins on the island. "That smells amazing, Mrs. Steiner," he said.

"Wayne, you have to stop calling me that. You're making me feel very ancient."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs.— um, Patricia," Wayne bumbled.

Patricia smiled at him. "Don't worry about it. Just don't do it again."

Wayne smiled back. "Is there anything else you need done?"

"No, thank you so much for doing that, Wayne."

"No problem."

"Will Kimball or Grace be able to come up for dinner? We can eat any time now."

"One of them will. I'll go see which one."

Wayne left for the basement and Ryan scoffed at her. "What's with the MILFer?" he said.

"Don't be so crass," Patricia said. "He's polite and helpful, unlike present company."

Ryan scoffed again. "I guess both your sons must be a disappointment then."

Patricia turned and looked at him. When he looked away, she knew he was sorry but too angry to take it back. "The only time I'm disappointed in you is when you talk like a frat boy gone wild-what would they call it?—_douchebag_?"

Ryan looked back at her in surprise. She raised her eyebrows in response.

"You did not just call me a doucebag," he said.

"I did not. I was merely looking for a term that fit within the milieu you have apparently embraced."

He frowned. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

She went to him and pulled him into a hug, kissing him quickly on the head and squeezing before letting him go. "Honey, don't make this any harder on yourself than it already is. This is all my fault, and I don't know how to make it easier for you, but, please, don't make it harder. Agent Lisbon is very serious. She is not the kind of woman to make threats lightly."

"This dinner is a bad idea," Ryan said.

"A good dinner is never a bad idea."

"You're going to be disappointed."

She tousled his hair. "Oh, and you're suddenly psychic. Is that what you're saying?"

"Mom, I mean it. Don't expect anything but contempt from him."

"His challenges are much greater than yours, Ryan. You need to remember that."

"Oh, so he's allowed to be a doucebag and I'm not."

"You do realize how insulting that term- along with _MILF_ and _cougar_ and the like- is to all women, don't you? I brought it up to make a point, not to make it part of our vocabulary."

He frowned in reply.

"We're not using that language."

"Fine."

"I don't have high expectations. Not exceedingly high. I have hope, though. He's… dealing with a lot of challenges and he's dealing with them better than most people would."

"I don't respond well to contempt."

"Yes. I know. But you don't have to meet his contempt with your own. And you might consider apologizing for hitting him. That might be helpful."

"He went out of his way to provoke me! I'm not apologizing for that." Ryan pushed off the island, unfolding his arms. "Where's the wine? There's got to be wine for this dinner, right?" He started scouring the countertops in search of the wine.

"Ryan," Patricia said.

He opened a cabinet and found it bare.

"Ryan."

"What?"

"I love you, you know that, right?"

He stopped and looked at her. "Yeah, of course I know that, Mom."

"Patrick spent most of his life not knowing that."

She saw him take in her meaning, saw his shoulders sag as his anger released to understanding. He was a good boy. In the end he always did the right thing.

"The wine is chilling in the fridge."

He closed the cabinet. "You're not supposed to chill red wine," he said.

"The perfect temperature for red wine is 52 degrees, the average temperature of an underground wine cellar."

Ryan rolled his eyes and went to the fridge. Patricia opened the silverware drawer and got a knife out to cut the lasagna and a corkscrew for Ryan. "I don't even expect him to come out for this dinner," she said quietly. "I hope he will, but I'm not sure."

Ryan set the wine bottle on the counter next to the stove and took the corkscrew from her. "And what is up with that? Why are you not sure?"

She shook her head. "I'm just too emotional when it comes to him. I can't see him clearly."

He twisted the corkscrew into the cork. "This is totally crazy," Ryan said, shaking his head.

"Yes, but it's _our_ crazy," Patricia said, cutting the lasagna into equal portions. "So let's make the best of it."

Wayne and Grace appeared at the kitchen entrance.

"Wow, it looks and smells great," Grace said to Patricia.

"Well, lasagna is usually a crowd pleaser. Nobody likes to make it but everybody likes to eat it," Patricia said, turning to them. She smiled at Grace. "I'm glad you could make it, Grace. We should send a plate down to Kimball."

"Yeah, he'd like that," Grace said. "Do you need any help?"

"No, Ryan and I have the rest of it covered."

Ryan had the cork out and went to take the wine to the table. Patricia lifted the lasagna, which prompted Wayne to dash to her side and reach for it.

"Let me get that for you," he said. "_Patricia_."

Patricia relinquished it to him. "Oh, thank you." She and Grace followed him out to the dining room table. "He's a good man," she said to Grace.

Grace smiled at her knowingly. Patricia saw Lisbon coming down the hall and her heart lifted when she saw Patrick following behind her. He had cleaned up and he looked like a whole new person, different even than the last time he had cleaned up and come out in a three piece suit. This time he looked calmer, more stable. He even had an air of humbleness to him and Patricia knew instantly that he remembered almost everything now about their life together. The door had opened and he had entered and Patricia knew now that his locked room had been part of why she couldn't see him clearly; because she could see him better now, not as clearly as when he was a child, but clearer than before.

Wayne and Ryan had both stepped back from setting their wares on the table and Agent Lisbon and Patrick joined them. They all did the awkward dance of trying to decide where to sit. Ryan took the initiative and pulled the chair at the head of the table out for his mother and then chose the one to her left for himself.

Wayne pulled the chair at the other end of the table out for Agent Lisbon. "Boss."

"Thanks, Rigsby," Agent Lisbon said, sitting. Wayne sat to the right of her next to Ryan, while Patrick sat to her left and Grace sat across from Ryan. Everyone but Patrick and Ryan smiled politely at the others around the table.

"Thanks so much for doing this, Patricia," Agent Lisbon said. "It's not something we ever do on this kind of assignment."

"Heck, it's not something we usually do on a regular day," Rigsby quipped.

Everyone except Ryan and Patrick laughed politely.

"I just thought it would be nice to have everyone come together, maybe dispel some of the tension in the house," she said.

Ryan poured his mother and himself a glass of wine and passed it to Wayne. Grace dished up a portion of salad and passed the bowl to Patricia.

"Boss?" Wayne asked, holding up the bottle.

"Half a glass, that's it," she answered. "We're on duty."

Patricia served herself salad and passed the bowl to Ryan. "Why doesn't everyone send their plate to me and I'll serve the lasagna. The dish is still very hot. We'll start with the farthest person. Agent Lisbon?"

"Please, call me Teresa," Agent Lisbon said, picking up her plate and handing it to Patrick.

The table became a hub of activity. The wine and bread and salad followed plates around the table until everyone had their full plate in front of them and was looking for a sign to start eating.

"Would you like to say a few words, Teresa?" Patricia asked.

The look on Teresa's face was startled surprise. "Uh, no," Teresa said.

"Oh," Patricia said, "Okay. Well, everyone just enjoy," she said and waved over the table.

Everyone dug in. Except for Patrick. Patricia had been hyper aware of his presence without being overtly so, and it was clear that he did not want to be there, that he was at the table only because Teresa had wanted it. He began eating the salad, took a bite or two of the bread, but seemed intent on avoiding the lasagna while everyone else exclaimed about it.

Once the praise had died down, Grace asked Ryan, "So how do you like San Francisco, Ryan?"

"I like it. It's a great city."

"And how long have you been there?"

"Almost two years."

"Ryan's in a band there," Patricia said. "It's one of the reasons he's anxious to get back. He has a gig coming up at Savannah Jazz."

"You play jazz?" Teresa asked.

"Yeah."

"What kind?"

"Brazilian Choro."

"No kidding? What instrument?"

For the first time since he sat down, Patricia saw Patrick look to her side of the table. He was watching Ryan talk but soon his eyes drifted to her.

"Saxophone."

"Hunh. No kidding."

"No. I'm not kidding. Why would I kid about that?"

Patricia heard Ryan's growing annoyance, but she was transfixed by what she saw in Patrick's face. She saw that for the first time he truly recognized her, that he remembered her, remembered what they had been to each other. The longer he looked at her the more she saw him opening up and the more she felt herself opening up. She was suddenly reminded of how she was when he was an infant, how she had spent hours just staring into his face, amazed that he had come from her, that he depended on her for his very life. She had felt so incapable, overwhelmed by what he needed from her, but in those hours of staring down at him and him staring up at her, she had vowed she would do right by him. In the first couple years before he could talk, they had developed a way to communicate without words and Patricia had always known what he wanted, what he needed. He hardly cried at all as a baby and toddler. The tears only came later when he had to interact with other people.

"No, I just- I don't know," Teresa said. "You just don't look like a jazz musician."

"Well, I am."

A profound sense of failure overtook Patricia as she held the gaze of her first born son. She had not kept her vow, she had let herself fall into too many pits of despair, and she saw how selfish and weak that had been, how much he had suffered because of it. _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I failed you Patrick._

"So, Savannah Jazz. That's kind of a big deal," Rigsby said.

She saw Patrick's face change, his brows coming together in confusion, and she realized that he had heard her this time.

"Don't do that," he said angrily.

Everyone at the table turned to Patrick in surprise, then they all followed his angry gaze to her. She could not take her eyes off of him.

"What just happened?" Teresa asked.

"Don't do that," Patrick said again.

"Jane?"

"Okay," Patricia said. "It won't happen again."

"What the hell is going on?" Teresa asked.

"She's broadcasting," Ryan said with a smirk. "She does it with other people like her. But I thought he wasn't like that," he said turning to her.

"Like what?" Patrick asked icily, turning to Ryan now.

"Like _gifted_," Ryan said. "Like people who _know_ things."

"I know things," Patrick said.

"Okay, that's enough—" Teresa said.

"Oh, yeah? What do you know?" Ryan asked.

"Ryan. Stop it," Patricia said, turning to him.

"I know that that thing you do with your girlfriend, that thing you're so proud of…yeah, she's not that into it."

Ryan stared at Patrick for two seconds before he sprang out of his chair and hurled himself across the table at him, spilling his wine and sending his plate and the lasagna dish towards Grace. Wayne, Teresa and Grace were instantly up and stopping him as Patrick ducked out of reach with a glinty smile spreading across his face.

"Okay, there cowboy," Wayne said as he pulled Ryan back away from the table. Wayne had Ryan's arms locked with his own and he turned Ryan toward the kitchen door that lead to the back yard. "We're taking this outside."

"Jesus, Jane. _Really_?" Teresa said.

"What?" Patrick said innocently. "He asked."

Grace began moving the dishes and throwing napkins on the wine. Patricia left to get a dish towel, tears blinding her eyes. She quickly wiped them, not wanting to further ruin the dinner. When she returned, Grace took the towel and mopped up the rest of the wine.

"Spilled wine is better than spilled blood," Grace said gently to Patricia.

Patricia sat, nodding at Grace to show her appreciation. She picked up her fork and began eating. When she did look up, she looked only out the window to see how Ryan was doing. From what she could tell, Wayne seemed to be calming him down, but she knew the damage was done and the dinner, the evening in general, would not live up to the expectations she had allowed herself when she had first seen that Patrick was going to join them. She reached for her glass of wine and took a sip, willing herself to appreciate more fully Grace's comment. It was true. No blood had been spilled. That was an improvement. Best to count the small blessings.


	34. Chapter 34

Jane lifted his fork and stared down at his plate. He didn't have the stomach for food anymore, hadn't really had it at all since he'd smelled the lasagna back in the bedroom. Lisbon and Van Pelt were both angry at him for upsetting the dinner and Patricia was fighting tears and he didn't care. Lisbon and Van Pelt didn't have someone talking inside their head. Why did she have to do that? It was like every time he relinquished something she pushed just that much further past it.

Lisbon stabbed her fork into her salad. Jane looked out the picture window into the backyard and saw Rigsby talking Ryan down. He knew the general content of the conversation. _Yes, Jane's an asshole, but he's our asshole. You'll get used to him._ Ryan wasn't buying any of it and Jane couldn't blame him. He knew he unfairly aimed low every time he went after Ryan. Yes, Lisbon was right. He was jealous. Every time he saw the connection Ryan had with his mother, something mean and ugly was unleashed within him. He couldn't stop it. And he now knew that Ryan had a similar, more unconscious reaction to him. It was hardly fair. Ryan would never win a match with Jane.

Jane put his fork down and took a bite of bread. Lisbon was too angry to make small talk and Van Pelt didn't know what to say, so they all sat there not talking. Eventually Patricia stood up and said, "I'm going to make a plate for Kimball." She went to the kitchen and returned with a plate that she started to fill.

"I can take it take it down," Van Pelt said.

Once Patricia had the plate loaded, she handed it to Van Pelt saying, "Thank you."

Van Pelt stood. "No problem."

Patricia said to no one in particular, "Excuse me," and then turned to go out to the backyard.

When Patricia and Van Pelt were both gone, Lisbon looked hard at Jane. "It was just dinner, Jane. Really, you couldn't just let everyone have a nice dinner?"

"Don't be mad at me, Lisbon," he said. "I didn't mean for that to happen."

"What did happen anyway?" she asked, an edge of anger still in her words.

"I heard her say something. She was looking at me and I heard her say something without speaking."

Lisbon's anger went to surprise and curiosity. "What did she say?"

"She said she was sorry that she had failed me."

"And _that_ made you angry?" she asked with a slight sarcasm.

"I don't know if I want her in my life, Lisbon, but I sure as hell don't want her in my head. She's pushing me and I don't like. And then Ryan…"

"Yeah, I know about Ryan, Jane, but what you said, that was just-that was intentionally meant to unhinge him."

"That was not intentional. That just came out."

Lisbon shook her head and went back to eating. Rigsby came back inside, leaving Ryan with Patricia, and sat down to finish his meal. Soon Van Pelt was back and everybody was eating except for Jane. He still hadn't tasted the lasagna. He saw Patricia pull a reluctant Ryan into a hug. She kissed his temple and rubbed his shoulder before leaving him and coming back inside. Ryan had his back to the picture window, looking out over the yard. Patricia sat at the table and started eating again. Jane figured he should just go so the rest of them could recover the earlier lightness. Maybe he'd go and get that damn western Cho had picked out.

Jane picked up his plate and went to take it to the kitchen. As he set it down in the sink, he heard the door to the backyard open and he turned to see Ryan coming inside. Ryan had apparently seen him and was coming to talk to him. Jane saw Rigsby stand up in the dining room, watching them, but Ryan apparently wasn't coming to fight and Rigsby hung back. Jane turned back to the plate in the sink and starting shoving the food off into the disposal. Ryan came up and stood next to him.

"I'm sorry I went off on you," Ryan said with some pained effort. "I'm sorry I hit you."

Jane frowned and looked at him. He took in the look on Ryan's face and said, "She told you to apologize."

Ryan stared back at him. "Pretty much."

"That must suck for you," Jane said.

"Pretty much."

"So why do it?" Jane was aware that everyone in the dining room was holding their collective breath.

Ryan did a little shrug. "She's smarter about these things. She said it would get you to back off, and I really need you to back off."

"Oh," Jane said, going back to rinse the plate, wanting to back off but not wanting to, mostly to prove his mother wrong.

"So will you?" Ryan was genuinely curious.

"Sure. Why not?"

Ryan looked at him skeptically.

Jane turned the faucet off. "I'll even give you a bit of advice that a lot of guys don't get," he said. He turned to Ryan. "If you just ask your girlfriend what she likes, the gates of heaven will open magically."

Ryan stared at Jane, the content of Jane's words sinking in slowly. "You really are an asshole," he said.

Jane shrugged. "Pretty much. But it's still excellent advice."

"Gee. Thanks, Obi-Wan Knobi," Ryan said and pushed off the counter, heading back to the dining room.

Jane stacked his dish in the dishwasher and dried his hands on the dishtowel. Maybe he'd go hang out with Cho. Cho was great company when you didn't feel like talking. As he left the kitchen, he saw Lisbon watching him with that worried look she got when she was afraid of what he was about to do. He pinched a smile off for her and turned right, heading down the stairs to the rec room. But when he got to the door he froze. He couldn't go in.

Soon enough the door opened just enough to show Cho's face. "Hey," Cho said.

"Hey."

"Want me to move the victim boards?"

"Yes."

Cho closed the door and Jane waited. When Cho returned, he opened the door wide enough for Jane to enter and then turned to go back and sit in front of the monitors. Jane followed him and pulled a chair over to watch with him, not letting his eyes wander over to the far side of the room where the boards were angled just so.

The monitors, two rows of four, all showed little black and white scenes of absolutely nothing.

Jane looked at Cho. "Seriously? How do you still have eyes? I would have scratched mine out hours ago."

Cho shrugged. "I watched a lot of TV growing up. I can veg."

"Hmm," Jane said. "Your American education."

Cho lifted his head in assent. "You?"

"Didn't have one."

"Really?"

"We worked evenings. Didn't seem worth getting one for daytime shows."

Cho took a bite of his lasagna, scanning the monitors. Jane leaned back in his chair.

Cho said, "Your books are still in the laundry room."

"I know," Jane said pointedly.

Cho took another bite of the lasagna. "This is killer lasagna," he said while chewing.

"Really, how do you do this?" Jane asked, already exasperated.

"It's not about what's not there. It's what could be there."

Jane looked at Cho. "Well, whatever gets you through."

They were quiet as Cho ate his dinner. Finally, Cho said, "So. You and Lisbon."

Jane simply answered. "Yes."

"Cool."

They fell silent again, watching the nothingness of the monitors.

"Anything come of those leads," Jane asked eventually.

"Van Pelt has something she wants to tell Boss about after dinner."

"What is it?" A tingling rush of adrenaline spiked through Jane.

"A name popped. An investor and tax evasion."

"Did you get a background?"

"Not yet."

"But you will."

"We need to talk to Lisbon."

"Why?"

"Stick around. You'll find out."

Jane frowned. "Really? You're not going to tell me?"

"Didn't I hear there was dessert?"

Jane went back to watching the monitors. Above them the floorboards creaked and soon Lisbon and Van Pelt showed on the monitor. They entered the rec room with smiles. Lisbon had a dish of chocolate mousse and she brought it over to Cho, reaching out in front of Jane to do so. Jane brushed his hand on the back of Lisbon's knee and when she stood back she looked down at him.

"I didn't think you wanted any," she said.

"You don't deserve any," Van Pelt said quietly.

"Cho said there was a good lead," he said to Lisbon.

"Yeah, Van Pelt, what did you find?"

Van Pelt sat at her computer and knocked the mouse to dislodge the screen saver. "I got a hit. Alexander Knox lost over 3 million in the hedge funds the Malones' managed. Two years later he was audited and tax evasion charges were brought against him through the Yolo County court system. He lives just outside Sacramento."

"Alexander Knox," Lisbon said. "You do a background?"

Jane's heart was thumping. Was it Red John? Could his mother be that accurate? That fast?

"No."

"Why the hell not?" Lisbon was surprised.

"I got to thinking, Boss," Van Pelt said. "If I pull a background from headquarters and this is really Red John, he'll likely be alerted. He's got someone in the FBI, maybe several someones. It stands to reason he would have someone in the CBI."

"Well, did you at least Google him?" Lisbon asked. "Check his LinkedIn profile, if he has one? Facebook?"

"There's nothing, Boss. It's like he doesn't exist online."

"Well, you're right about the background. We need to think this through. I'll be damned if I'm going to let him slip through our fingers again." She looked down at him. "You okay, Jane?"

Jane looked at her but all he could think of was Alexander Knox. Alexander Knox. He searched his memory palace for any evidence of Alexander Knox.

"Jane?"

"Not now, Lisbon. I'm thinking," he said.


	35. Chapter 35

_Thanks everyone for your reviews. I especially appreciate those who keep reviewing through all the many chapters. I thought this was going to be a totally steamy/smutty 10-chapter affair and here I am at Chapter 35 and it's mostly drama/personal discovery stuff with the END of Red John on the agenda. lol. Anyway. Thanks to those who have stuck it through. I [heart] you._

* * *

Lisbon had never been so happy to hear words come out of Jane's mouth. Jane was thinking again. The man had just upended a perfectly lovely dinner in under forty words, and now with just a few more, he'd made Lisbon's heart lift not just with relief but a good dash of hope as well. Jane was thinking again.

He was also sleeping, and as Lisbon watched him she thought how well rested he looked. Despite the ringer he'd been through the last three weeks, he looked good. He actually looked a little humbled.

"What are our options, Van Pelt?" Lisbon asked.

"Even if I hacked into the CBI database as a black hat outsider, security would know what information was targeted. Homeland Security would be all over it. Right now the queries have been broad enough to not raise questions. If we target Knox in searches, openly or covertly, we risk losing that advantage."

Lisbon looked back at Jane.

He shook his head. "I don't have anything. I've never heard the name before."

Rigsby entered the rec room smiling and carrying a dish of chocolate mousse. When he saw the seriousness of the room, he dropped the smile. "What's going on?"

"We got a hit," Lisbon said. "Jane, can I talk to you privately?"

"It's okay, Lisbon," Jane said.

"What?"

"You can tell the team," Jane said. "I just don't want it leaving this room. Ever."

The team all looked to Lisbon. "Oh," Lisbon said. "Okay, Jane has recovered his memory. For the most part. And with it he has found he has some abilities like his mother's. Actually, according to his mother, they exceed hers."

"No way," Rigsby said.

"I knew it," Van Pelt said, smiling with great satisfaction.

Jane grimaced and Lisbon rushed on, "We don't know exactly what that means, but, Jane, we do have some other options here."

Jane frowned now. "If Knox is Red John, I can't—"

"No, I know. I'm talking about your mother."

"What about her?"

Lisbon saw Jane bristling under the suggestion. "She could help where you can't. Just in the parts where you can't. That's all."

"What parts?"

"Let's give her Alexander Knox. See what she sees."

"It couldn't hurt," Van Pelt said.

Lisbon saw the potential for hurt as she watched Jane consider her suggestion. Earlier in the day he had vehemently threatened to leave if Patricia was brought on the case, and now here Lisbon was offering it as a quick solution. But that was before they had learned what they had learned, and she saw Jane struggling between flat out rejecting the idea and knowing it really was the quickest and cleanest way forward.

"If Knox isn't Red John," she said, "he's all yours. If he is… we would still need you, Jane. But we could use her too."

When he sighed, she knew he saw the logic and would go along with it despite how hard it would be for him.

"Rigsby, Van Pelt, come with us." She turned and headed for the door. There was no time like the present.

* * *

Jane followed the team upstairs, a buzzy thrum of anxiety keeping him on edge. He had hoped to make it through the rest of the evening without seeing his mother at all. He hated to admit that he did feel uneasy about the dinner, the way Patricia had been afterwards, and he hated even more that he felt that way. And now this—having to go to her for help because he couldn't do what was needed.

When they arrived upstairs they found the kitchen all cleaned up and put to bed. Patricia was at the dining room table bent over papers and writing, and Jane saw it was the letter to her husband. Ryan was lounged out on the couch watching a soccer match.

Patricia looked up as they approached and read the situation, her eyes briefly locking on his before turning to Lisbon.

"What happened?" Patricia asked.

Lisbon sat down in the chair across from Patricia. "You said you wanted to help. We could use a little help."

Patricia looked immediately to him.

Jane heard the TV go mute and he looked over to see Ryan sitting up and looking over at them. Jane wasn't in the mood for another showdown. He looked back to Patricia.

"Is that what you want?" she asked.

"It's what we need," he said.

"Okay," Patricia said.

Grace sat next to Lisbon, while Jane and Rigsby hung back. Ryan stood and came over to them. "What's going on?" he asked.

"It's okay, Ryan," Patricia said.

"We pursued the leads that you and Jane gave us," Lisbon said. "We've got a name, but we're hesitant to do a background on him through the normal channels. We thought you'd be able to help."

Patricia looked between him and Libson, obviously confused. "I don't understand."

"We want to give you this name and have you tell us what you see. Is that something you'd be able to do?"

Patricia frowned. "Why would you need me for that when you have Patrick?"

Ryan went and sat next to Patricia, but he was watching Jane.

"If there's any chance this person is Red John, Jane would not be the best choice to pursue this sort of information. He would not be a choice at all."

Jane saw that Patricia knew instantly why he couldn't do it and she was clearly upset by it. When she looked at him again, he suddenly remembered a time when he was very young and had climbed onto her lap. She had been wearing a long sweater that went past her knees and she brought the sweater around him and buttoned him in with her.

"Of course," Patricia said, turning back to Lisbon. "Of course."

Lisbon filled Patricia in on what little they knew about Alexander Knox. Grace gave her the slim file on him that included some of the paperwork and emails Knox had submitted to the Malones. Patricia read through these papers thoughtfully. When she finished, she went back to the beginning and read through them again, pausing occasionally here and there. Jane watched for any feigned psychic performance and found none. She looked like she was reading the stocks or some other vaguely difficult material that needed to be deciphered.

When she flipped to the last page, she let go a long breath. When she spoke, she kept her eyes on the pages. "He's an accountant or financial advisor—someone who works with numbers all day," she said. She frowned. "But there's no substance to him. He's empty—like an empty suit." She looked up at Jane. "It's not Red John, but he's working for him."

Jane went to the table, staring at her, searching her face. "How do you know?" he asked.

"Red John is a dark soul. He's filled with rage. This man—" She waved at the papers. "He feels nothing. It's why he's attracted to Red John." She looked down at the papers again and reached to spread them out. "These documents are actually a cover. The money wasn't really his. He's a proxy."

"You mean he took the tax evasion conviction for Red John?" Lisbon asked.

"Yes," Patricia said.

Jane saw no reason not to believe her, and yet he couldn't stop searching for a tell, because while a part of him wanted to believe everything about her was what it seemed, another part wanted to reveal her as a conniving fraud. Actually, a big part of him wanted that.

Patricia was growing uncomfortable under his stare. "He was following orders." She turned to him then and met his stare with her own.

It was like at dinner, the way she looked at him, like all the years had melted away and he was at the kitchen booth watching her talk to the endless stream of people that visited them, bringing their troubles and worries and looking for her to sooth them. She had taught him the word _soothsayer_, how it meant one who tells the truth. She had taught him the responsibility of being one—_always tell the truth, Patrick, even if you know they don't want to hear it. They can ignore it if they want, but you'll know you did right by them_.

That memory brought an avalanche of others—he remembered that _he_ was the one people were coming to see at the end. She had always been there, helping, protecting, fending off… and then he remembered how angry he was when he realized she wasn't going to come back, how he told himself their whole life together had been a lie. He remembered vowing to become the best liar ever. He would make his father proud just to spite his mother.

Lisbon was getting squirmy at the silence, but he couldn't take his eyes off Patricia. He realized his anxiety was gone, that she didn't hold the dinner against him. As he watched her, he found another part of himself relaxing with relief, the kind of relief you get when you're scared and you find your mother's lap to climb onto and she buttons you into her sweater without really even noticing you because she's talking to the neighbors.

"You're remembering," Patricia said.

"What do you know about Red John?" he asked.

"Not much."

"Can you see him?"

"No. I… It's not the same for me. I don't see things like you do. I have a general sense of him, but I can't know more unless I have more information."

"Like a crime scene?" Lisbon asked.

Patricia grimaced. "Sometimes, yes. Sometimes case files or talking with witnesses is enough to get helpful information. I will never be as accurate as Patrick can be."

"You have a track record of being very accurate," Van Pelt said, surprised.

"Yes," Patricia said. "Patrick is moreso."

Ryan shifted in his chair. "Just give her the case files. She'll get it done," he said exasperated.

"It's not that easy, Ryan," Patricia said.

"Why? Because _he_ has to be the one to Red John?"

Lisbon sat back in her chair in disgust, which made Jane grin slyly. He loved how much she hated Ryan.

"No," Patricia said gently. "Because Red John is very smart and very sadistic. Even if I had full reign on this case, I do not know enough. Without Patrick, I'd just be blundering through it. And I would fail. Red John would make sure of it."

"That's true," Jane said. He appreciated her insight, her ability to know her limits. He was reminded of Kristina Frye and how she had blundered her way right into Red John's hands. As he looked at his mother, he realized with some pause how much the two women looked alike and he quickly decided to not spend any time thinking about _that_.

"You haven't tried to see Knox?" Patricia asked him.

"No."

"Can you try now?" she asked.

A panic spread through him. He had been so afraid that Knox was Red John that the thought of "seeing" Knox now still held the same fears.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't—"

Lisbon was looking at him now and he quickly brushed off his mother. "No, of course," he said. Then he quickly realized that he didn't really know what to do. With no person in front of him, no idea of what the guy even looked like, Jane wasn't quite sure how to conjure up anything about the man. He looked at the papers in front of Patricia and then looked up at her blankly.

She smiled softly at him. "You were just starting to see people remotely when you were 10. You hadn't mastered it yet."

"I'm not a- I don't-" He didn't have to look to know that the whole team was suppressing smiles right now.

"That means you need him face to face," Patricia said.

"So go get him," Ryan said.

"It's not that easy, kid," Lisbon said.

"Oh, really?" he said pointedly.

"He's got a point," Grace said.

"We've got an address that is a year old. He's been scrubbed from the internet," Lisbon said. "Grace, you can find his location without a government database?"

"He's got to pay bills. He got to have a bank. I know some white hat hackers who could find him in under five minutes with just his grocery store discount card."

"That's if he's still going by Alexander Knox," Jane said.

"Well," Lisbon said. "I'm gonna tell you all that what we're about to do-we may know it's white hat—but our superiors will think it's very much black hat. We need to be in agreement here on our next steps."

"Please," Grace said, like she was offended. "I'm in."

"Totally, boss," Rigsby said.

"All right. Grace get his address and then take Rigsby and go get him. Tell Cho what's going on and that he has an out if he wants it."

Grace stood up. "Got it, boss," she said. She turned and left with Rigsby.

Lisbon looked at him now, trying to gauge where he was, and he didn't really know where he was. He was in completely new territory. Or very old territory, though he wasn't sure his experiences as a child would be anything like what he was going to attempt once Grace and Rigsby brought Alexander Knox back to Santa Clarita. _If_ they brought him back. He didn't even remember most of those early experiences anyway, just the one his mother had to help him stop remembering and then the little bit of Lisbon he'd seen.

"It feels right," Patricia said. "It feels like the right move."

Jane looked at her and she smiled tentatively at him.

"Thank you, Patricia, for your help," Lisbon said.

"Of course," she said.

Lisbon stood to leave. "Jane?"

Jane realized she expected him to leave with her. "Yeah," he said, standing.

Lisbon turned and headed for the bedroom, and Jane let her get far enough ahead to be out of earshot before he said to Patricia, "I'm, uh, sorry about the dinner."

He saw relief and happiness dance across her face. "It's okay, Patrick. Really."

And he knew it was. Okay. Really. But there was something about how happy she looked that made him instantly know the same level of relief and happiness that she was experiencing—a buoyancy he hadn't felt in a very long time. He liked it. He smiled a goodbye and went to catch up with Lisbon.


	36. Chapter 36

_First, thank you to all my reviewers and followers. You do know how important and uplifting you are, right? And thanks to Anna for suggesting a Patricia/Ryan moment was needed. I wasn't thinking that at all and now see that a Ryan chapter was truly needed. Which also explains why this chapter is so short. It's Ryan. lol. Also... for my followers, be aware that the alerting system was down when I posted the last chapter. If you don't check for new stories on your own, you should hit the back button and catch the much longer chapter I posted a few days ago. Enjoy._

* * *

"Whoa," Ryan said. "Who the hell was that?" Patrick Jane had apologized like he cared what their mother thought. It was shocking, to say the least.

"That was your brother," his mother said. "That was closer to the real Patrick than anything you've seen so far."

Ryan saw how elated she was by this turn of events. It made him uneasy. His mother was rarely this elated and he worried that this whole thing, this whole nightmare, was all going to end very badly for her. He saw how Patrick affected her-got her hopes up only to dash them cruelly on the nearest rock.

He scoffed. "Yeah, right."

His mother looked at him with that chastising look he really hated. "And you've been putting your best foot forward here? They've been seeing the best of Ryan Michael Steiner?"

Ryan sighed. "Whatever."

She sighed back at him. "_Whatever_. I think you've been in the states too long. _Whatever_."

"Well, you'll note that he only apologized to _you_," Ryan said. "That's pretty telling if you ask me."

"I don't think you are the best judge of his character, Ryan. People under pressure are not their best selves. You, included."

"Still. I don't think you should expect anything more from him. I mean, sure, be happy when he throws a bone, but don't expect too much."

"He's trying, Ryan," his mother said. "This is much more than I expected from him at this point. And I'm sorry he is so hard on you. You're just an easier target. He's very conflicted about me and it's getting directed to you. I am sorry about that."

"I know," Ryan said. "I get it. I do. Well, to an extent. Of course he would hate me. I mean, what he's been through…. It's awful. It's seriously enough to make anyone a complete asshole. It's just, well, yeah, it sucks for me, but, Mom, I am more worried about you."

She smiled dismissively and that made him even more worried. She refused to see the danger of the situation.

"I wish Dad was here," he said.

"Ryan," she said, reaching and rubbing her hand on his shoulder, "it's going to be all right. Everything is going to work out."

"You don't know that!" He couldn't stop himself. He knew there were way too many variables for her to even suggest that.

"I _do_ know that. I've never known anything more completely than now. For me to find him so easily, without even trying, at a time when he needs me most… that is not a coincidence."

He saw her resolve and knew she would not hear his real concern. Only his Dad could get through to her when she got like this, and even then he wasn't all that effective in keeping her from slipping into the depression that so often followed her closed cases. Ryan had never understood why such happy endings would make her so sad she couldn't get out of bed for days. Until now. He decided to change tactics.

"So what happened today anyway? I thought you said he wasn't psychic and now you're saying he's better than you?"

"No, I said it appeared he had lost his abilities. But he's recovered his memory and with it some of his abilities. He was profoundly gifted as a child."

Ryan shook his head. Over the years he had met others like his mother, watched how they were with each other, and, frankly, they were all just a little off. He had spent most of his childhood and all of his adolescence seeking something, anything, close to _normal_, and at every turn his mother was constantly revealing the extraordinary. He no longer held it against her, but he also didn't have much patience for it. When extraordinary is the norm, it starts to feel excessive. His mother never thought of her gifts as something that made her better than others, but almost everyone else Ryan had met who had lesser skills than his mother had some sort of bloated conceit. And Patrick Jane had more conceit than most _before_ he even knew he had psychic skills.

"It's very patronizing the way you think about me," his mother said.

And then there was that. Hands down, all his friends in high school and college and even grad school, for god's sake, had agreed he had the toughest go—a mother who knew what he was thinking and why. He frowned at her in defeat. It always came to this with her. He wished they could get a hold of his dad.

"It's going to be okay, Ryan. It's going to work out," she said.

And because he knew there was nothing he could say to change her mind, he said the only thing that would vex her most: "Whatever, Mom. _Whatever_."


	37. Chapter 37

_This is the T-rated version of this chapter. The M-rated version is in the Mature section._

* * *

Jane caught up with Lisbon and followed her down the hall, his eyes naturally attracted to her ass. He was instantly reminded of their earlier walk down the hall and her difficulty in maintaining normalcy after what he had done to her. By the time he followed her into the bedroom he was hard and sure of what he was about to do to her. He closed the door and quickly locked it before grabbing her hand and pulling her to him.

Startled she gasped, "Jane!"

He quickly pushed her up against the wall and kissed her. He felt her tremble and she moaned helplessly. He pushed his tongue into her mouth and she accepted him easily, bringing her hands up and pulling him to her. God, he loved how she was game for anything. He reached down and grabbed the back of her thighs, lifting her up so her legs wrapped around him. She trembled again and wrapped her legs tighter, pressing up against him. They kissed deeply. He couldn't get enough of her and he groaned involuntarily as she moved against him.

She pulled back and said breathlessly, "Let's go to the bed."

"No."

She was startled by his answer. "They might hear us," she said.

"Then you'll have to be very, very quiet," he said, looking at her, daring her to chance it.

Her eyes flashed with desire and determination.

* * *

As they caught their breath and slowly started untangling from each other, Jane looked at her. A slow grin played across her face and he grinned back at her. He let her down and was immediately troubled with the problem of his pants down around his ankles and his shoes still on. Lisbon looked down with him and they both chuckled. He tried toeing his shoes off like she had earlier, but they were laced too tightly. She was grinning widely at him now as he bent to unlace them and then kicked everything off. Freed, he pulled her with him over to the bed and they collapsed on it. They helped each other get their shirts off and then Jane pulled her into his arms. They lay facing each other, arms and legs all tangled up again.

"You called me Patrick," he said.

Lisbon grinned. "I did."

"I liked that."

"I could tell."

Patrick chuckled again. "Well played."

"Thank you."

"You're going to enjoy that part, aren't you?"

"What part?"

"The being in control part."

"Immeasurably."

Jane grinned. "Well, enjoy it while you can. I will eventually get my stamina back."

"We'll see."

He leaned in for a kiss. "Is this why you wanted to come back here?"

"Actually, no. I wanted to talk to you about Alexander Knox."

"What about him?"

"I was just thinking you were put on the spot out there, that maybe you'd have better luck back here where you're more relaxed. If Knox is still in the Sacramento area, we're talking 10+ hours to get him here."

"I don't know what to do though."

"Patricia said you were starting to master distance stuff. I was thinking you might have those memories in your memory palace."

"You've been doing a lot of thinking."

"Do you want to try? Go have a look round?"

Jane closed his eyes and sighed. "Not really."

"Why not?"

He opened his eyes and said, "I think I've seen enough for one day." He was in no hurry to go back and see all those memories he'd managed to avoid the last time he was there.

"Just real quick," Lisbon said. "It might be really helpful."

He considered her. He wanted to please her. He wanted to help the team. He wanted to catch Red John, and Alexander Knox was the only lead they had at this point. But he was starting to feel his limits. The amount of startling information he'd absorbed in the last 24 hours was staggering. That the new information broke apart the very foundations that had sustained him for the last 35 years made it even more difficult. Frankly, he knew Lisbon was the only reason he was managing it as well as he was. She really was his refuge. Even the team knew it.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just need to take a break."

"Okay."

"I know you're feeling the pressure. I am too, but I—"

"You have other pressures. I know, Jane. I don't mean to add to it."

"No, you're not. You're helping immensely."

"I may have overstepped the bounds a bit in helping my subordinate," she said and rolled her hips so her patchy mound was pressed against his.

"Partners," he corrected.

She grinned slyly.

"I had no idea you would be so mischievous in bed," he said.

"I _told_ you that you didn't know everything about me. But you were too busy feeling all superior to hear me."

He chuckled and ran his hand down her back to her sweet ass. "I am all ears now."

"_Now_. Mhm. _Such_ a typical man."

He smiled widely. He liked her even more in bed, all relaxed and playful.

"I do have to get back to the team," she said. "You want to come and help Cho again?" she asked straight-faced.

He shook his head, still smiling. "As fascinating as that work is, I think I'll hang out a bit up here," he said. He was not about to admit how hungry he was, that he was going to have to raid the fridge some point soon.

"Mmkay," she said, and moved in to kiss him.

"So have we broken any records for you yet?" he asked.

"For number of times in a day?"

"Yes."

She scoffed. "Hardly." Then she quickly asked, "You?"

"No. But I would say there is a day, a week, in our future just waiting for us to smash old records."

"How psychic of you…" she grinned.

"A day, a week, with no _work_," he added.

"Agreed," she said and kissed him again.

They reluctantly got up and got dressed in the reverse order they got undressed. By the door, Jane laced his shoes while Lisbon waited. When he stood he looked her up and down.

"You don't look like you just got ravished up against the wall," he said and took her into his arms.

She smiled. "That's good."

"But knowing that you did is going to keep me hard all night." He kissed her softly.

"Mmm. I'll keep that in mind," she said pulling back. She took his hand and pulled him with her. "Come on."

They went down the hall hand-in-hand, Jane noticing the light spilling out under Patricia's door. Lisbon dropped his hand before they reached the living room. Ryan was back on the couch watching hockey this time. When he saw them, he sat up.

"Agent Lisbon?" he asked.

Lisbon and Jane stopped. "What?" Lisbon asked.

"Wayne said you had a treadmill downstairs. I was wondering if I could use it tomorrow."

Lisbon considered his request. "That sounds doable. Talk to me tomorrow."

She headed for the stairs and Jane followed. At the top of them, he grabbed her hand. "I'm going to stay up here," he said.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, skeptically.

"I'm just going to get some tea. I'll be down later."

"Tea, huh?" she said, like she saw right through him.

He smiled. "I'll see you later."

"Mhm," she said slyly and turned to go downstairs.

Jane went to the kitchen, thinking the night wasn't over yet. He opened the fridge and stood looking inside. All the remains of the dinner were there and he questioned whether he wanted to drag out that lasagna. He heard something behind him and he turned to find Ryan coming into the kitchen.

"The lasagna is excellent," Ryan said.

Jane turned back to the fridge. "I know," he said, annoyed. While he wanted to resist just on principle, he had eaten all of one bowl of soup that day. And while he'd not broken any records, he had expended an inordinate amount of energy since daylight broke that morning. In short, he was famished. He went for it, pulling out the casserole dish covered in tin foil and placing it on the counter.

Ryan was leaning against the counter by the sink watching now.

"Is there something you wanted?" Jane asked.

"Yes," Ryan said.

Jane turned and looked at him. "Okay."

"I wanted to thank you for apologizing to my—to _our_ mother."

Jane narrowed his eyes at Ryan, looking for the real intent. "Okay."

Ryan reacted to his look and struggled with what to say next. "Okay, I'm just… I think you should apologize to me too, but I know I punched you and all, so, whatever." He lifted his hand to indicate the bruise Jane had almost forgotten about.

"Yeah, _whatever_," Jane said. Harvard and Columbia, really?

"Yeah, so I just wanted to tell you that my—that _she_—has her hopes up about you and I'm asking that you not toy with that. She's…." He was really struggling for words now, and not because he didn't know what he wanted to say. He was cautiously choosing _how_ to say it. "Look, I don't know what she was like when she was with you, but I never understood why she was the way she was until now. I mean it all makes sense now."

"What makes sense?"

Ryan hesitated. There was no reason for him to trust Jane at all, so Jane said, "Her sadness?"

Ryan took a deep breath and exhaled, saying, "Her depressions. She'd close a case and everyone would go home happy except for her. She'd take to bed for days after a case like that." He frowned at Jane. "She'd kill me if she knew I was telling you this."

Jane nodded. "I understand."

Ryan looked unsure. "Do you?"

"Yes. More than you could know."

A look of understanding crossed Ryan's face. "I'm sorry for what happened to your family," he said.

Jane frowned, annoyed again. "Your secret is safe with me," he said.

Ryan looked startled then wary. "I don't have a secret. I have a request. I'm asking that you not dash her hopes cruelly. I haven't ever seen her this happy and I thought you should know that. That's all this is about," he said. He pushed off the counter and went back to the living room and the couch.

Jane turned back to the lasagna. He pulled the tinfoil up and looked at the remains with a growing indifference as he realized he was no longer hungry.


	38. Chapter 38

"Jane's here," Cho said from his spot in front of the monitors.

Lisbon looked over to see Jane standing outside the rec room as if waiting for something.

"It's the victim boards," Cho said.

Lisbon looked over to the boards and instantly understood. They were still where Cho had apparently moved them for Jane the last time. She went to the door and opened it. "Hey," she said, stepping aside.

He hesitated.

"It's okay," she said.

He followed her in, closing the door behind him.

"I thought you were getting tea," she said. She had just left him and now here he was.

"I changed my mind."

He looked a little off, though she couldn't imagine what could have happened in the short time he was upstairs without her. "When was the last time you ate?" she asked.

"I got it, boss," Van Pelt said. "Knox is still in Yolo County at the same address, at least according to his wine club account."

"Wine club, huh?" Lisbon said.

"Can't keep the man from his Chardonnays," Jane said walking over to sit next to Cho.

"Can we go get him, boss?" Van Pelt asked.

The whole team looked to her. Lisbon stood calculating the risk. "I need everyone on the same page here. If this goes bad, it could end all our careers." She looked at each of them. "If we don't report picking up this suspect, it's flat out kidnapping."

"Reports get lost," Cho said.

"Yeah, Rigsby said. "Communication gets spotty when you're underground."

"If you get him you better strip him down and put him in a jumpsuit. Red John's minions tend to come with self-destruct options," Jane said. "Don't give him any chances because then you're dealing with a dead body."

Lisbon's stomach turned a little at that. Jane was right. They were going to have to abuse all sorts of rights just to get Knox back to Santa Clarita without alerting any law agencies. Of all the questionable things she had done in the last year or so, this was going to be overtly and shamelessly outside the bounds of law.

"Lisbon," Jane said, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"What?"

"Lorelei and Michaela are not the last victims. There will be more."

She looked again at her team.

"We're in," Cho said. "All of us."

"It's worth the risk," Rigsby said.

Lisbon felt the weight of her decision. She knew she didn't really have a choice. To take any other course would be purely selfish. What were their careers in comparison to all the lives lost? They'd all be able to find other work, if it came to that. She'd take the hit. As the agent in charge, she would be held accountable, but she knew they'd all suffer if this didn't work out. Looking around the room, she saw that they all shared the same thought: What was important was to get that sonovabitch once and for all. She was proud to know she had such an honorable team to work with. She looked at Jane and saw what the world would say about his influence on the team-that they had drank the Kool-aid of a conman and fraud. She also saw just how far he had come. While he often said he worked for the CBI for purely selfish reasons, she knew he felt great satisfaction in finding justice for victims. It's what gave _his_ life meaning, whether he would admit it or not. What he had taught her was that justice did not always reside in the law books.

"Rigsby, Van Pelt," she said. "Go get him. Do whatever you have to and make sure he stays alive," she said.

Van Pelt smiled. "No problem, boss." She and Rigsby got their jackets and headed out.

Jane was watching her with a look she couldn't quite identify. "Cho. Where are you on the sleep schedule?" she asked.

"I'm good. I got this, boss," he said.

"Okay. I'm going to check on Stanton's team reports. You let me know when you need relief." She looked at Jane fully. "Jane, go get something to eat."

He looked surprised. "I'm not hungry."

"Just go find something," she said gently and then headed back for her computer.

She heard Cho say, "The lasagna, dude, I'm telling you" and Jane respond, "Yeah, yeah. I'm still miffed about the books, you know. How can I trust anything from you after that?" Lisbon suppressed a smile as she sat at her makeshift desk and turned on her monitor.

* * *

Jane eventually made his way back upstairs to the kitchen. His time down in the rec room had allowed his appetite to return. Ryan was still out in the living room, sprawled on the couch and watching some reality cooking show. Jane was suddenly annoyed at what he now saw as Ryan's complete claim of the only couch in the house. He realized that if Ryan weren't there at all, he would be spending a lot more time enjoying the comfort of the living room and the plush couch. But as it was, he was skulking around avoiding it because of Ryan's presence.

Only the dim light above the stove was on in the kitchen, and Jane went to the fridge and peered inside, the bright light splashing over him as he opened the door. He was hungry but the remnants of his mother's dinner before him brought the memory of how he had upset it. He knew he had every right to be angry at his mother's invasion, but he was a little ashamed that he had ruined the dinner she was so pleased to put together. And then there was Ryan's fear that he would cause her some kind of irreparable pain. And then there was her, not holding his behavior against him, wanting to help, stopping Ryan's attempts to disparage, trying everything to get him to remember their bond. And he did. That was the thing. He remembered now without having to go to the memory palace.

He closed the refrigerator door. He remembered how she had always helped him and he now realized why he felt so uneasy about her: he had forgotten what it was like to have someone in his life who knew more than him, who was smarter than him. That she kept saying he was better than her or more advanced belied the fact that she was always 15 steps ahead of him. The knowledge brought up the conflict he'd been battling within all day: relief mixed with fear and anger. He didn't know if that could be resolved.

He headed back for his bedroom, ignoring Ryan as he passed him. When he reached Patricia's door he slowed. The light spilling out underneath the door showed she was still awake. He pushed on past, but questions pulled him back. He did have questions. He came back to her door and knocked lightly.

"Come in," he heard her say and he hesitated, knowing by the way she said it that she was expecting Ryan. He knocked lightly again. Soon the door opened and Jane was bathed in the light of her room.

"Oh. Patrick," she said. And then he saw what Ryan had meant: he watched her overcome her surprise and her spirits lift into an untempered smile that showed her complete pleasure in seeing him. The smile lit up her eyes and spread across her whole face. It was the kind of smile that moved people to do things for you. It was his smile. The recognition stunned him.

She waited for him, but he couldn't think of anything to say. He couldn't remember why he was even there. A fleeting look of confusion passed over her face before she said, "Well, come in" and opened the door wide for him.

He stepped inside almost without any will of his own, her buoyancy carrying the action of the moment. He hadn't thought far enough ahead of his knock on the door to expect being asked into her room, and once inside he still couldn't remember why he wanted to see her. He looked around out of habit. She had obviously been at the small writing desk just inside the door, her still unfinished letter to her husband abandoned mid-sentence. A twin bed was pushed up against the long wall and covered with a bright floral bedspread. A small armchair in front of a window overlooking the backyard held her suitcase. She wore an Asian-designed silk robe over her night clothes and was clearly ready for bed.

She closed the door and said, "Have a seat," and then motioned for him to sit on the bed. She turned the chair at the writing table around and sat. He was hit with a strong wave of self-consciousness, the painful kind felt most often by teenagers. He sat but he couldn't focus on anything in particular, neither in sight or thought. He glanced at her fleetingly as he took in more of the room, and he was aware that she was trying to guess why he was there. The room was like the rest of the house, warehouse furnished. She had only her suitcase and the things on the writing table. As he looked at the table again, he saw a small picture frame holding a photo of a man with his arm around Ryan who was in a cap and gown. They were all smiles.

"That's your husband," he said.

Patricia looked over her shoulder at where he was looking. "Yes. That's Randall." She turned back and looked at him.

She held his gaze briefly before he glanced away. He remembered that he had knocked because he had questions, but he still couldn't remember any of them.

"Did something happen?" she asked.

He looked at her and had to think what she might mean by the question and then he realized she meant the team. "Van Pelt and Rigsby left to get Alexander Knox. They plan to bring him back here."

"Oh," Patricia said. "That's good."

He frowned, remembering the questions he had. They were bringing Knox back ostensibly for him to – what? Interrogate? Infiltrate? Jane still wasn't sure about the portal business.

"What is it, Patrick?" she asked.

He took a moment to put together his thoughts. "Lisbon wanted me to find the memories about seeing things … at a distance. To see if I could remember how to do it."

"Oh," Patricia said. "That's a good idea."

"No, it's not," he said.

"Why not?" she asked cautiously.

"Because I don't want to remember all those people's stories. I know what they are. I could feel it when I was there."

"Okay," she said, still cautious.

"We saw a lot of people," he said.

"Yes. We did. We helped a lot of them."

"I was too young to be doing that," he said, fully understanding now why he avoided those memories.

She considered him a long time. "Yes. You were," she said.

"It's different when you're being real about it," he said. "I spent years as a fraud, not caring about anything but the money. I just listened and then told people something close to what they wanted to hear. It doesn't affect you so much. They're just stories. But I remember now. I was a child. I didn't have any understanding. It affected me."

"I know," Patricia said quietly. She hesitated, then said, "When I had Ryan, I saw how other parents tried to protect their children's innocence. All I can say is that I was young too, and I thought I was protecting you by trying to explain what you saw. It didn't occur to me to keep you from seeing anything at all." She waited and when he didn't say anything, she said, "It takes a very strong mind to do what you did after I was gone, Patrick. You did that at age 10. You protected yourself very well. You don't need that protection anymore."

Jane was watching her and starting to get lost in the memories. He crossed his arms in front of him. "You know things, private things, about me that I don't particularly want you to know," he said. "You know things about Lisbon. When I do readings I am mostly guessing. It's highly educated guessing, but it's not like what you do. What you do - it's invasive."

"Patrick," she said tilting her head with reproach. "You read my personal journal."

Jane looked away, embarrassed to have been caught at that.

"But, really, I can't imagine why you wouldn't want your mother knowing your most private thoughts. Isn't that what all boys and men want?"

Jane looked back at her in alarm. She grinned and he caught on, remembering this was how she teased, using it to reprimand and teach. She always assumed you knew when you had erred.

"Ryan was a huge fan of my abilities during his teen years," she said.

"I can imagine," Jane said.

"Your guess about Ryan and his girlfriend was _not_ educated," she added.

Jane couldn't stop a sly grin from leaking out.

"There are obvious differences between us, Patrick, but it all comes down to intent. What do you do with the information once you have it? I would have never shared what was in my journal. It was there for my own edification, but you know that already. You know a lot of things about your co-workers that you never share. You just don't like it when someone knows something about you."

That was annoyingly true. "I know things about you," he said.

Patricia raised her eyebrows in mild surprise. "More than what you read in my journal?"

"Yes."

"How do you know?" she asked.

"I opened the portal."

"Oh, well, that makes sense," she said. "And it worked? You saw what you went looking for?"

"Yes."

"That's good."

"Really? You don't mind?"

"No, Patrick. You need me to be an open book right now. I don't mind."

"Okay," he said, remembering a question that had nagged him from the moment he had met Ryan. "Why didn't you ever tell Ryan about me?"

She was surprised by the question, and she looked at him like she had just been told something that caused her great pain. And seeing that made him realize just how much it had bothered him, made him think he was something she was ashamed of, something to be kept … locked away. He stood, alarmed at the idea that his mother might have stuffed him into some faraway recess of her mind. He moved away toward the armchair, a jangly wave of adrenaline spiking through his veins.

"Patrick, no," she said.

When he turned and saw her coming toward him, he stepped back and that stopped her.

"It's not—it wasn't like that," she said.

"What do you see?" he asked, even more alarmed that she was reading his thoughts.

"It's nothing specific," she said. "It's just a general awareness. I didn't do what you did, Patrick. It had nothing to do with you."

"I don't want to be an open book to you. You can shut it off, right? You told me I can shut it off, so that means you can shut it off too, right?"

"I-"

"Shut it off!"

"Okay."

She had the same look as she had at dinner when he demanded she stop talking to him without words- chagrin mixed with an obvious attempt to placate. He turned from her and tried to calm himself. He went to the window.

"I don't see things as clearly as you do, Patrick. I'm not reading your thoughts. I just understood your fear as it was expressed in your question. I never thought… I didn't … I didn't know—"

He looked at her and saw she was at a complete loss at what to say to him, but as she looked at him, he saw her resolve return.

"I did not make myself forget you, Patrick," she said. "If anything, I kept the pain of my loss of you so close it has ruled much of my life. I did not have you, and as a result, I would not let myself fully have my husband or Ryan. At least not in the way they would have wanted or deserved." She stopped. "But you know that already."

"I told you to shut it off," he said.

"Patrick, I'm too old to really do that. Shutting it on and off is what you do when you're just starting to control your abilities. We were learning that together before everything happened. You've seen what it's like to have things come to you unbidden. It's scary when you have no understanding of what it is, especially when you're a child. But you will learn quickly. The way you work now… it has been excellent preparation for how you are going to work."

"You still haven't told me why you never told Ryan," he said.

"No, I haven't," she said. She breathed deeply and turned to go back to her chair. She sat and Jane saw she was struggling to answer, but he saw it was a struggle to reveal, not conceal.

"You could say that Ryan was born into protective custody," she said. "Randall's world was so different and he was truly frightened by what had happened to me, by where I came from. He never told his family about my background because they would have done everything to dissuade him from marrying me. He was from them, but not like them. It was what we had in common. But Kalimantan had scared him, the baby murdered by kidnappers, my reaction. When Ryan was born, we agreed to do everything possible to keep him protected. But—" She faltered.

"I couldn't protect him from me. I had a terrible depression after his birth that I mostly concealed from Randall. I didn't want to be the cause of his leaving the jungle. You were on my mind always. For every milestone of Ryan's I remembered yours and sometimes that just sunk me. I didn't tell Randall because he always wanted to take away my sadness, make everything right, and I knew he couldn't. I never set out to not tell Ryan about you, about my past. At first, it was because he was too young. As he got older, there were other … exigencies. His turning 10 was particularly difficult for me. By the time he hit puberty, he fought relentlessly to get out of the protective bubble we had created and a big part of that fight was to get away from me. He was right, of course, but it put our family through a lot of turmoil. We almost lost him. He is very strong-willed, and, in the end, I just didn't want to add to his difficulties of having a mother like me. It had nothing to do with you, Patrick."

Jane saw she was telling the truth as she knew it, but what she didn't see was that her not telling Ryan had everything to do with him. It just wasn't for the reasons he had assumed. He saw how they had all suffered, even his father, for a suspicion over what Ricky Streeter had said or not said to the police. What was the point of such suffering? Really, what did it all come to but more suffering? Why did lowlifes like Zeke and Troy and despicable narcissists like Red John have their way in the world?

His mother was coming towards him. "Patrick," she said. She was closer now and she said, "Patrick," again, but louder, like she was trying to wake him. When she was close enough, she pulled him into a hug and held him tight. "Patrick," she whispered, "there is a great wrong being righted here. You don't see it yet, but it is happening."

He let himself be held by her. He wanted to believe her but he knew better. He had had his own way with the world long enough to know there were few consequences for people who knew how to skirt the law.

She pulled away with a look of sudden surprise, her hands going to his shoulders then to his face. She touched his bruised cheek gingerly. "Tell me why you are so against psychics," she said.

Embarrassment followed closely by angry annoyance washed over him. She dropped her hands and stepped back, which made him even more annoyed. "What do you see?" he wanted to know.

"I do see a lot more, Patrick, now that you've unlocked your memories. I couldn't see you as clearly before."

"What did you just see?" he demanded.

"I'm not sure," she said. "I just had a fleeting glimpse as to why you are so hard on yourself. But I don't know for sure. It seems based on a contradiction you hold tightly. It has something to do with your beliefs about psychics."

"That doesn't make any sense," he said.

"Not yet," she said. "That's how it is for me. The information comes in little glimpses and I have to tease out what it means. I always need more information to make sense of it. That's how we're different, Patrick. When you get information, it is a complete download. You feel what it's like to be the person in question. That's a very rare gift."

"That doesn't sound like a gift at all."

Patricia laughed a breathy laugh. "No. It doesn't, does it?" She let another laugh escape. "But we don't get to choose, do we? You don't know how many times I wished I'd been born with a more ordinary talent. Something so unremarkable no one would notice me and I wouldn't notice them."

A knock on the door was followed by Ryan opening it and entering, saying, "Hey, Mom—" When he saw Jane, he stopped. He quickly looked to his mother and back to Jane, distrust written all over his face. "What's going on?" he asked.

Jane turned away, taking himself out of the conversation.

"We're just catching up," Patricia said. "What are you doing?"

"I was just coming to say goodnight. Are you okay?"

"Of course, Ryan."

Jane glanced and saw her go to Ryan. They hugged and kissed cheeks.

"I'll see you in the morning," she said.

"Okay." He was reluctant to leave.

"Goodnight, Ryan," Patricia said gently.

Ryan frowned as he watched Jane and Jane turned away again.

"Goodnight, Mom."

Jane heard the door close and he slowly turned back to his mother. "I should go too," he said.

"Wait, Patrick," she said. "Please."

A dread crept over him as he watched her carefully decide how to frame the request she was about to ask.

"I was wondering," she said lightly, "if you could humor me for just a little bit."

The shy and uncertain smile that followed, completely guileless in its realization, swept the dread away and immediately replaced it with an irresistible wish to please. She was good. He had to give her that. She was incredibly good.


	39. Chapter 39

_Apologies for the long delay in updating. Life intervened. :) Hope the Jisbon moment makes up for the long absence. The mature version of this chapter is over in the M section._

* * *

Jane waited as his mother tried to find the right words. His sense that she had been nudging him along some obscure path all along returned full force. Now he understood it had all been about his abilities, his not using them, his not even knowing about them.

"I understand you not wanting to be an open book to me, Patrick. I do. And I don't blame you for being wary. I don't deserve your trust. I do see you more clearly now, and while I can't shut off what I see, I can choose to ignore it… or not pursue it."

She walked closer and he couldn't help but tense up. Her abilities made him defensive, no matter how much her smile made him want to please. She stopped and he knew she had read his body language.

"Would you like me to explain my process?" she asked gently.

He suddenly remembered the questions that had dragged him to her door were all about what she was now offering, and he saw that she was trying to calm him, not just in the moment, but in general. He didn't want to know any of this—about her or Ryan or himself or Alexander Knox or—he didn't even want to know what all was on the list of things he didn't want to know.

She smiled with understanding. "You were very smart to stop knowing things as a child. You do realize that, don't you? It would have caused great harm to yourself and others if you hadn't. But you are able to understand now, and there is a lot of harm that can be undone and even prevented because of what you can do."

"I do all of that already," he said.

"What you do now has its limits."

He didn't know what to say to that. The strangeness of hearing that his skills somehow fell short —skills that amazed and astonished most people—was… confusing.

"You read my journal," she said, "you saw what I was doing. You saw my process-"

"I didn't understand it," he said, an anger rising at his ignorance, at his need for her to explain.

"What you read was me pursuing information about you. I couldn't see you. Usually, when I am pursuing, I have to work a little harder. I am presented with a problem—a missing child—and I have to solve it. With you, the problem was my inability to see you. I was desperately snatching at anything that came to me. That included your co-workers. But please know, I don't usually do that."

"But you see specific moments. Very detailed moments."

"Yes. I get snippets. You get movies."

"I don't want to talk about me."

"Okay." She reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear, a quick, nervous smile playing at her mouth. "I imagine you are quite good at cold reading," she said. When he frowned she held up her hand. "I say that because it's not unlike what I do, but I'm not guessing. I'm actually seeing. I can do that with actual photos too. I can look at a photograph and get the same information I would if they were in person. If there's someone in the wind, I have to piece them together by other means."

"How?"

"If there are suspects, I talk to the friends and family. The co-workers. If there's nothing, I look at the scene, the evidence."

"That's what I do."

"Yes, sound logic and good guessing is very clever. I'm not surprised at how successful you've been."

"But." She was obviously trying to get him to some point.

"But you could be even more successful, more accurate. If someone as smart and well-connected as Red John came along—if he was someone you had no emotional connection to—you could catch him fairly quickly. I'm sure of it."

He knew where she was going, the same place Lisbon had already visited, the same place he was inevitably going to have to go: If what his mother was saying was true, Jane would need her help if they wanted to catch Red John before more women and children died. Despite his earlier misgivings about just this idea, Jane found he was of two minds about it now. For one, he saw that together they could very well catch the bastard once and for all. After what he had been through in the last three weeks, a part of him thought just catching him would be enough. But another part was already calculating how his final plans for Red John might come to fruition given these new variables. Because he knew Patricia was very much a new and formidable variable, one who could not only see his plans but who would also work against them.

Patricia frowned. "Do you really think you could add to Red John's bloodbath just to get your revenge?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, the part that knew better winning out. "I have no qualms about that. I will do everything I can to make sure he is stopped for good. Making him suffer at the end would be nice but not essential. I'll be happy just to see him dead."

He had thought she might recoil, but she showed no noticeable reaction to his statement.

"I'm not the only change you need to account for, Patrick," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"You have Teresa now. Your plans don't account for that."

"That's none of your business," he said. His internal alarm system roused to a jangly start. "You don't get to discuss that with me."

"I don't mean to discuss it, just to point out," she said. A knock on the door took her attention away from him.

"Come in," she said.

The door opened to reveal Lisbon. She had one hand on the door and the other held a bowl covered in tin foil, a fork sticking out from it. "Sorry to interrupt," she said, looking quickly between the two of them. "Ryan told me you were in here," she said to Jane.

"I was just leaving," he said.

"No," Lisbon said, "I didn't mean to interrupt. I just wanted—"

He started towards her. "No, I was just leaving."

"Patrick," his mother said as he passed her. She reached out and touched his arm, stopping him.

He turned toward her, but couldn't bring himself to look at her.

"I wanted to tell you that I won't pursue anything anymore," she said. "If I want to know something, I'll ask you directly. You can choose whether you want to answer or not."

He looked at her, wondering if that was even possible—her choosing to know or not. A door had opened for her, she readily admitted to that. She was different, calmer, more sure of herself, and he could only assume it was because, as she said, she saw him more clearly. A confused mix of emotions sprang to life within him. Mothers were supposed to know things about their children. That mother knowledge brought a level of peace and security to the child: to be known, to be truly and essentially known, made life seem a little less chaotic, a little less existential. A spouse or lover may provide similar feelings, but never to the same extent as a mother. And yet his mother had left him to be raised by a man who neither knew him nor understood him, a man who made him feel his only worth came from what he could contribute to the coffers. She had been the source of his peace and the source of his upset. How could that be reconciled?

Jane turned towards Lisbon, who opened the door wider for him to pass by her. He heard her say, "Goodnight, Patricia," as he headed for his bedroom. His mother said, "Goodnight, Teresa," in return. Jane opened his bedroom door as Lisbon closed his mother's. He waited.

"You okay?" Lisbon asked.

They went inside, Lisbon flipping the switch on.

Jane closed and locked the door. "Yeah. What's that?" he asked, nodding towards the bowl.

"Your dinner," she said. She handed it to him. "Eat."

"How do you know I didn't already eat?"

She smiled. "I was the one who put the food away."

"You checked."

"I checked. Now eat. I'm going to get ready for bed. I have to relieve Cho in 5 hours."

She went to the night stand on her side of the bed—she had a side already he suddenly realized—and unloaded her gun and badge and phone onto it, turning the small lamp on before heading off for the bathroom. Jane flipped the overhead light off and went to the bed. He set the bowl on his nightstand and sat down on the bed. He reached to untie the laces of his shoes, then slipped them and his socks off. Leaning back against the headboard, he picked up the bowl and lifted the tinfoil. His mother's lasagna. Of course. He took a bite.

Even cold, it was as good as he remembered. The flood of warm memories that came with each bite brought one that had some significance: he remembered that she had made it for his birthday dinner, that it was the last meal she had cooked for him before his birthday party where everything had gone wrong. He understood now why she had cooked it today: she saw it as purely symbolic, a hopeful beginning that acknowledged a troubled ending. Again a resistance to her efforts nagged at him. He set the bowl down, half eaten.

Lisbon soon emerged from the bathroom. She stood at the bed and began undressing, kicking her shoes off and starting on the buttons to her blouse. Jane watched a moment before reaching up and starting on his own buttons. Of all the times they had undressed in the last 24 hours, this was the first time without the frenzied rush of sexual desire leading the way. She finished before him, her nakedness still such an unusual sight. Lisbon, naked, climbing into his bed. The how and the why of it was something he would undoubtedly ponder later when he had fewer things to think about, but for now he was content to have her there. She looked as tired as he felt. She slipped under the covers as he stood to get his pants off. When he joined her she was already curling up around her pillow, her silky white back to him.

He wrapped himself around her, slipping his hand up to hold her breast. She reached to turn the lamp off and then settled back into him. He pulled her closer, lifting her hair out of the way and kissing the back of her neck once.

"How did it go with your mother?" Lisbon asked.

Jane closed his eyes, already half asleep. He thought about how to answer and then sighed in defeat. "I don't want to talk about it right now," he said.

"Okay," Lisbon said. She drew in a deep breath and let it go and Jane followed her lead.

When he woke, he was still wrapped around Lisbon in the exact same position. The sleep had been productive—he was well-rested, alert. With no idea of what time it was or how many hours they had slept, he began to feel the press of time, knowing their time alone together was quickly diminishing. He decided to make good use of what they had left.

* * *

After, he pulled her closer, gripping her hip, and pressed his face against the back of her neck. He wanted this moment to last forever. He closed his eyes and held on. He was compelled to keep holding her tight, and even as their breathing flattened out, he held a tension that he soon realized would not be dispersed without his saying what he needed to say.

"You know that I love you, right?" he said.

She went completely still in his arms. It scared him. He really had no idea how she was going to react. Then she loosened up, pushed back against him, said, "Yeah, I know."

Relief flooded him and he relaxed, ready for sleep again. "Good," he said. But then Lisbon tensed up again and he realized that she was worried he wanted her to respond in kind. "I don't need any declarations from you, Lisbon," he said. "I already know how you feel."

"Oh," she said.

"Really," he said. "You don't need to say anything."

She relaxed. "Okay," she said.

He smiled. He didn't know how much more time they had together tonight, but he was completely satisfied that he had made the most of it. He moved his hand up to cup her breast again. He began to drift off to sleep, his mind floating freely over the day ahead, the day behind. He lighted on many things, but was startled at discovering something new entirely, so startled he blurted it out: "He didn't know."

"What?" Lisbon asked, turning her head sleepily towards him.

"My father never knew about me. He didn't know what I could do. She hid it from him." He remembered now how she had done it, how she had always kept Alex out of the trailer when they saw people, how she never had the carnies come to see him, only her.

"Really?" Lisbon asked in amazement.

"Yes."

"She was protecting you," Lisbon said.

"Yes." She had told him that he had special gifts that needed to be kept safe, that people, even his father, couldn't understand how special they were, that when he was older he would know when it was safe to let the world know. He realized that her protection extended long past her time with him. His 10-year-old self must have known, at least sub-consciously, how dangerous it would be to tell his father the things he saw. The room in the memory palace was built not just in anger but also fear. God knows what his father would have done with his Boy Wonder had he known.

He closed his eyes. Lisbon turned over and faced him, drawing him into an embrace, throwing her leg over his. He relaxed into her, deciding that for now, Lisbon next to him, Lisbon in his arms, was all that mattered.


	40. Chapter 40

_Again, very sorry for the delay. I started this story in the dark days of winter and thought it would be ten chapters tops. I live in the rainy Pacific Northwest and, well, the sun was out all of June. That never happens (usually we must wait until July 5th for it to show itself), and so this story is competing with some very mighty forces. My cells crave vitamin D. :) Also, it is nearing the end, and that is always harder to write than beginnings. Thanks to my ever faithful followers and reviewers and especially Marcia in Brazil for nudging me. Hope the Jisbon helps make up my sluggish production._

* * *

Lisbon woke to the buzzing alarm of her cell phone. She turned onto her back and reached to silence it in the pre-dawn darkness, Jane stirred, shifting to resettle next to her, his hand on her hip trailing to her belly. She turned to look at him. He was completely out. She had witnessed him sleeping so many times over the last ten years and the sight of him at peace always melted her heart a little, even from the start, from the very first time she'd found him sleeping on the couch in the bullpen.

But then he would wake up and she'd fall back into her role because it was not prudent for a boss to have such tender feelings for her consultant. Even though she now called him her partner, she would admit to no one that the change had been a manipulation to get him to open up more and tell her more than 30%. Seriously, only 30% after ten years and everything they'd been through together?

And now.

Now they were lovers. Now they fell into bed together. Now Jane told her things. What the hell? It had all happened so fast her head was still spinning. What was she thinking? Obviously not about her career. The conflicted feelings she now confronted reminded her of Bosco and she remembered how she had dealt with that. Back then she had desperately needed to be taken seriously by the higher-ups, so she'd closed everything up, compartmentalized whatever errant feelings she and Bosco had into the proper boxes, because Bosco was a married man and her partner and those were lines she wouldn't cross. And wasn't Jane all those things? Sort of? Married to the memory of his wife, married to his revenge? And a colleague—a colleague most of the higher-ups thought was more than a little crazy. Yet she had risked her career numerous times for him. Even she knew that going for Alexander Knox in the dead of night outside the proper channels would not look as bad as her hooking up with Jane at this particular time and place.

She saw her team being questioned: "And where was Agent Lisbon this whole time while you were down in the rec room working the case?" She cringed at the appearance of it all. In the wrong hands this would look incredibly bad.

And yet.

The reality was that Jane had needed her. He was close to being of real help to the team again because he had her to lean on. How much did it matter that he had made her feel incredibly good in the process? Before, she'd have to say that he only made her feel good _less_ than 30% of the time. His gestures of friendship and kindness were few and far between all the other maddening behaviors. And now? She flushed to think what a generous lover he was…and what he would be like once he got his elusive stamina back. And the way he had bared himself, telling her things about his past, about what he was thinking now. She realized he had brought her behind the curtain. He was revealing himself to her. The implication of it all made her nervous. Jane didn't do that with anyone. She'd bet everything that the only person he'd ever done that with was his wife.

The reality was that they were friends. Good friends. He had needed her comforting. That it had all turned physical was understandable, given his state of emotions and her dearth of lovers in the last six months. They had both succumbed to the most expedient solution to their immediate needs. She could see it all being a Vegas thing—what happened in Santa Clarita stayed in Santa Clarita. What was most important right now—not for her or Jane, but for the world at large—was to get Red John.

She began sidling her way out of bed. Cho needed relieving. He was stretching himself for her and Jane and she'd been selfish to let him do it. Jane stirred with her movements, reaching to hold onto her and blinking his eyes awake.

"I need to go relieve Cho," she whispered.

He grabbed her hip and pulled her to him, kissing her on the cheek. His lips were soft and warm. Awake now, his eyes focused on her.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Nothing. I just need to go. Cho needs to grab a few before Knox gets here."

Jane frowned. "You're freaking out," he said.

"I'm not freaking out. I need to relieve Cho." An uneasiness started within as he continued to look at her.

"Correction. You're ignoring how freaked out you are."

"Are you reading me?" she asked, her uneasiness spiking. "I mean, are you seeing me like you did with your mother?" she demanded.

"No. I can see it in your eyes," he said.

"I'm not freaking out."

"Nothing has to change, Lisbon. Except the sex. The sex will get better."

God help her, that thought sent a surge of desire through her, but she brushed it off for the task at hand. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just trying to get back to work."

Jane closed his eyes and moved in closer so his nose was touching hers. "The only reason you are freaking out is because of habit. But your old rules don't apply here."

"I still don't know what you're talking about."

He pulled back and looked at her. "I only had one, Lisbon. I found her early and stayed with her. I'm used to expressing my love during sex. Or after. It's a fundamental difference between us. You had one, but it was a long time ago and he wanted more from you than you wanted to give. Now if someone says it to you, it's a red flag for crazy or some other sign you need to move on, mostly because loving someone has always meant you had to give more than you received."

It took her awhile to take in what he was saying, and when she did all she could say was, "Jesus, Jane." She saw the truth of what he said and it made her a little sad to think of herself this way.

"It's a habit. You can break habits," he said.

"Well why do I have to be the one to break the habit? Why don't you break yours?"

Jane smiled widely and chuckled. He ran his hand up her back and then back down over her ass. "My way is a lot more fun. Plus, I would never let you give more."

She was starting to succumb to the hypnotic movement of his hand, which had slipped around to her belly and was moving slowly up to her breasts.

He moved in for a soft kiss. "I do love you. I even love this skittish part of you. It's almost like watching a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs."

"Stop it," Lisbon said, putting her hand up to his face. "I can't handle all this… attention. And besides, you said that before and then pretended you didn't. Talk about skittish."

Jane stopped his hand. "Well, it wasn't like you were all broken up about me pretending I didn't say it. In fact, you looked fairly relieved to me."

He was right, but she had always wondered. "So why even say it at all?"

"I can't point a gun at someone I care about and shoot without saying something. Any number of things could have gone wrong that day. If things ended badly… I just wanted you to know."

"Oh. Well. That's sweet. Confusing, but sweet."

"It really was the adrenaline speaking. And then I knew how you'd react if I explained it and we were about to get Red John and…well."

"We're about to get him now. We have to."

"Yes. But everything's different." A frown creased his forehead.

"Are you going to be ready for Knox?" she asked gently. She saw his apprehension. "What is it, Jane?"

"I think I'm going to need Patricia there," he finally said.

"Oh."

"I really don't want to need her," he said.

"I know, Jane. I know."

"But she knows what I'm capable of, or seems to know. She knows more about what to do with Knox. I mean, we're bringing him here for me to do what? There's still a lot of unknown territory for me. I mean, I'm aware that I could potentially find out what Red John looks like. Knox knows ergo I could know."

"Oh, wow, I hadn't even thought of that." Her mind started racing at how fast they could possibly get this done with just that information. Knox was not likely to give up much on his own anyway.

"Yes. But…"

She put the brakes on her racing thoughts and saw the fear in his eyes. "But what?"

"What if Knox saw some of Red John's work? Saw him actually doing it?"

"Oh." She hadn't thought of that either. "But it's not that likely," she added. "Knox is a bookkeeper. A numbers guy."

"No, I know. It's just he is in Red John's circle. There may be things he knows or has seen that could potentially … throw me."

"Oh," she said, but this time with a sense of his deeper meaning. She remembered how Patricia had talked him through his nightmarish memory. He was right to distrust his ability to handle any visions related to Red John, but she saw how hard it was for him to admit that his mother could help. She pressed her lips into a sympathetic smile. "You're right. You should have her there. How did it go with her last night anyway? It seemed … better. Tense, but better."

"It was okay."

"What did you talk about?" She couldn't help but be curious. Personally, she thought Patricia would be a great influence on Jane's less desirable traits.

"Don't you need to relieve Cho?"

"Yes, I do," she said with a start. "I need to shower first too." She turned to get out of bed, but felt Jane's hand snaking around her waist.

"I don't know. You smell fine to me," he said, nuzzling his nose into her neck and sniffing.

She swatted him and squirmed out of his arms.

"Have you thought about what to do with Knox once we're done with him?" Jane asked, letting her go.

She stood and looked down at him. "No, I'm taking this all one step at a time." It did bother her. This whole Knox thing could blow up in their faces worse than the last time, with Lorelei.

"Maybe I can be of use there," Jane said. Then, as an afterthought: "Would you like company in the shower? I could be of great use there."

He smiled at her and, God help her, he looked entirely ravishing. Cho needed some sleep. Jane swept the sheet off and came to her, taking her elbow.

"I promise I will only help," he said leading her to the bathroom. "I will not hinder."

God and all the saints in heaven, help her.


	41. Chapter 41

Technically, Jane kept his word. While Lisbon washed her hair, Jane helpfully washed her body. He lathered her up with enough soapy suds to make his work a slick and slippery ordeal that threatened to hinder only if Lisbon caved to his thorough ministrations. But the steamy warmth of the shower, the inviting attention of his hands could not persuade. Lisbon soldiered on, determined to get back to work and relieve Cho.

As she rinsed the last of the shampoo out of her hair, Jane glanced his hands over her nakedness one last time. He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips, the water splashing his face. Lisbon nudged him back and then switched places with him so he could have the brunt of the spray.

"I gotta go," she said, reaching for the curtain.

"I'll make you breakfast," he said. "I'll bring it down to you."

"Really?" she asked, truly surprised.

"Yes. How about pancakes?" he asked.

"Okay."

"Tell Cho to come up. I'll make enough for him."

"Okay," Lisbon said, shaking her head as if she'd just heard some doozy of a story.

"Hey, I can cook," Jane said.

"Okay," Lisbon said, stepping out of the tub grinning.

Jane finished his own shower and dressed—clean suit pants and shirt, again leaving off the vest and jacket. It felt a little odd. He was more himself but to put on his normal attire now felt like over-dressing. He didn't know why.

The house was still dark, save for the light above stove. Jane threw the switch at the kitchen and started searching the cupboards. He had the pancake batter assembled and ready to pour when Cho showed up.

"Cho, my man," Jane said in greeting.

Cho lifted his head in return and came over to watch Jane pour the batter onto the hot griddle.

"You cook," Cho said.

"Of course I cook," Jane said, looking at him. The wrinkled skin beneath Cho's eyes showed the extent of his sacrifice. "Why is that surprising?"

Cho shrugged.

"I led a very domestic life for a long time," Jane said.

"Right," Cho said. "You're not a cop."

"Sit," Jane said. "Do you want coffee?"

"No. I'm going to sleep after this."

"We don't have maple syrup, but there's strawberry jam. I'm assuming it was meant to be matched with the peanut butter."

"Rigsby."

"It should do."

"Sure."

"So where are Rigsby and Grace?"

"They're a couple hours out. They got Knox without a hitch."

"Excellent," Jane said, turning to watch the pancakes for bubbles. Except he didn't feel excellent. He pushed that thought aside. "You know, I really owe you one," he said turning back to Cho. "Maybe two."

"Definitely two," Cho said.

"Right." Jane smiled.

"So what are you going to do?"

"Uh—"

"About Knox."

"Oh. Right." He turned back to the stove. "Well, I'm just going to play that by ear," he said. He flipped the bubbling pancakes.

"You have no idea what you're going to do."

"None."

"Well, don't make it any worse than it already is."

"Right. Good advice. Easy to give." He heard Cho push out a breathy laugh.

Jane set the kettle on to boil for tea, and while he dished up Cho's stack of pancakes, he saw Ryan walking out of the darkness of the living room towards the kitchen. He wore a white CBI t-shirt with gray CBI sweatpants that were slouched at his ankles, loaners apparently from too-tall Rigsby.

"Hey," Ryan said.

"Hey," Cho said.

Ryan looked at Cho's pancakes and said, "Is the treadmill free?"

"Yes," Cho said.

"Well, until Cho is done eating that is. He has to sleep," Jane said.

"Don't worry about it," Cho said. "You hungry?"

Ryan looked warily at Jane.

Jane shrugged. "There's plenty here."

"Okay."

"How many?"

"Five," Ryan said, going to sit next to Cho.

"Three," Jane said. "There's not _that_ much."

"Fine," Ryan said.

Jane poured out three more cakes and set the bowl down to prep his tea.

"So what's the plan today anyway?" Ryan asked.

"The plan is all right here," Jane said, tapping his head.

Between bites, Cho said, "There is no plan. Jane's going to wing it as usual."

Jane took offense. "I don't _wing_ it. I follow the cues in the moment."

"Same thing," Cho said.

"I don't get how you could forget being psychic," Ryan said.

"I'm not _psychic_," Jane said, turning to stare hard at him. The kid had a real talent.

"No, I mean, just from what I know," Ryan said. "From the people I know. They say it's just always there."

"I thought Lisbon said you were psychic," Cho said.

"Lisbon did not say I was psychic," Jane said.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure she did," Cho said.

"No, she didn't. She—oh, just eat your pancakes," Jane said. He turned to flip Ryan's pancakes in disgust.

Soon the kettle whistled its readiness and he made tea while Cho ate and Ryan got up to get a cup of coffee. As Jane served up Ryan's pancakes, Patricia emerged from the dark living room. She wore the nightgown from the night before and her hair was up in a loose knot. She looked like she had not slept well.

"Good morning." She smiled softly at him. Cho and Ryan both turned upon hearing her.

"Good morning," Jane said.

"Morning," Cho said.

"Hey, Ma," Ryan said with his mouth full.

She went and got a cup of coffee.

"There's pancakes," Jane said, "if you want them."

"Sure," she said.

"They're pretty good," Ryan said. "What'd you put in them?"

"Secret ingredient," Jane said. "Chef never tells."

"Vanilla and cinnamon," Patricia said, lifting the coffee cup to her lips.

Jane looked at her, startled. She smiled as she sipped the hot liquid. He was annoyed that he still couldn't read her. "Did you- Did you just read that?"

"No, I smelled it." She smiled again. "But you got that from me. That's how I always made them."

He didn't remember that, but he wondered how many other things he had carried on without knowing where it came from. He was reminded of what she had said in interrogation room #3, the thing that had set him off, made him go completely ballistic after just five minutes in the room with her—the same thing he had said every night to Charlotte before he kissed her goodnight: You are safe, you are loved, you are wise.

"How many?" he asked and took secret pleasure that she now had the confused look on her face.

"Excuse me?"

"Pancakes."

"Oh." She shook her head as if clearing the slate.

"Three," Ryan said. "She didn't eat _that_ much last night."

Jane looked at him, taking the dig for what it was, a little impressed by the quickness. Ryan raised his eyebrows at Jane and went back to eating.

"Three is good," Patricia said.

Jane turned and poured out the pancakes, realizing that he would need to make more batter for him and Lisbon. Which he did. After serving his mother, he made two plates, asking Cho to take down Lisbon's when he went. Jane soon followed with his own plate and a new cup of tea, leaving Ryan and Patricia at the kitchen island.

He had to kick at the door to the rec room because his hands were full. Lisbon answered shortly, ushering him in. They went to the chairs in front of the monitors.

"These are amazing pancakes," Lisbon said, picking up her plate, the cakes covered in strawberry jam already half-eaten.

"Hm," Jane said, sipping his tea and then setting it down next to the monitor in front of him. He took his first bite. They were pretty good. He took another bite. He suddenly realized he was famished. He ate quickly while still trying to savor the tasty breakfast.

Lisbon grinned as she watched him. "Got your appetite back there, huh?"

"I've got a lot of appetites back, Lisbon," he said. He watched her cheeks color and smiled widely at her.

She shook her head and turned back to the monitors. Once he had finished the pancakes, it was worse than it had been with Cho: God awful boring, but worse. With Lisbon next to him, reminding him how much more fun she was in bed, knowing she'd send him packing if he tried anything to relieve the boredom, Jane suffered quietly. Seeing Ryan walk across the monitor covering the rec room door was the highlight of their time together. They could hear the whir of the treadmill as Ryan ran while Cho slept. Another highlight was the text message from Van Pelt. She and Rigsby were close—adrenaline spiking close.

Jane startled at the light knock on the door behind them, the one by the bathroom, the one that connected to the laundry room.

Lisbon frowned. "Is that Ryan?"

"It must be," Jane said, standing and going back to open the door. And sure enough, Ryan stood with the CBI shirt drenched in sweat and his face flushed and wet.

"Hey," Ryan said, a little breathless.

"Yes?"

"Can I come in?"

Jane looked to Lisbon. He really wasn't sure.

"What does he want?" Lisbon asked.

"What do you want?" Jane asked.

"I need to talk to … I don't know… you or Agent Lisbon or both."

"He wants to talk," Jane said to Lisbon.

"Jane, just let him in," Lisbon said as if all the air in her lungs was seeping out.

Jane opened the door wide enough for Ryan to pass through. Ryan, like Jane, purposely ignored the victim boards and walked over to Lisbon. Jane followed and then shouldered his way back to his chair.

"What is it?" Lisbon asked.

The monitors had Ryan's eye for a moment before he turned to Lisbon. "So is there really not a plan for this guy that's coming?"

"Whatta ya mean?" Lisbon asked suspiciously.

"I mean what's the plan? Are you really just going to have Patrick interrogate him?"

The silence that followed made Jane purse his lips. The kid had a talent.

"I'm sorry," Lisbon said sweetly. "What the CBI plans or doesn't plan is none of your business."

"Come on. I'm not making a stink about you holding me here against my will. At least have the decency to be straight with me."

He had a point. Jane looked at Lisbon who was weighing her options. "What's your point?" she asked.

"I'm just saying that my mom, _our_ mom, has done this a million times before. There's no reason to keep her out of this."

"Who said we're keeping her out of this?" Lisbon asked.

"Well—" Ryan looked confused. "Are you?"

"Not necessarily."

"Okay," Ryan said slowly. "And you're okay with that?" he asked Jane.

Jane shrugged, but was not fully committed to it. He looked away.

"Has my mom even been down here?" Ryan asked.

"Whatta you mean?" Lisbon asked.

Jane saw Ryan was looking over his shoulder at the victim boards.

"Has she seen this stuff?" he asked.

"No."

Ryan turned back to them. "Why not?"

"Look," Lisbon said. "We just haven't gotten to that point. We might not ever get to that point, I don't know, but we are working on our timeline. Not yours."

"The more she knows, the faster it goes," Ryan said.

Lisbon was getting twitchy next to him. Jane stood up and faced Ryan. "She doesn't need to come down here," he said. He nodded at the victim boards. "She already knows all about this."

"But still," Ryan said, steeling himself noticeably. "There's no reason to keep her out."

"You've made your point," Jane said. "Now—"

"_Shit_," Lisbon exclaimed. Jane turned and saw what she saw: the black CBI SUV pulling into the driveway. They all heard the sound of the garage door opening.

Alexander Knox had arrived.


	42. Chapter 42

_Knox arrives. Jane sees Red John. My longest chapter ever. Hope you all enjoy. :)_

* * *

Jane knew where Lisbon's anxiety about Knox came from. They all knew the risks, but with Knox's arrival, the risks all had a decent chance of becoming real. Jane's anxiety came from a different place. Lisbon stood watching the monitor then looked at him.

"You need to get your mother ready," she said. "We'll interrogate him at the dining table upstairs." Then she looked at Ryan. "You need to stay down here. If Red John's people know about you, they don't need to know you're here."

They all watched the driver's side door of the SUV open. Rigsby stepped out, the garage door sliding down behind him. Soon he entered the rec room and strode over to them.

"What's he like, Rigsby?" Lisbon asked.

"Strangely quiet," he said. "We kept him in the back blindfolded with Van Pelt practically sitting on him."

"Is he in cuffs?"

"Yes. He hasn't made any sort of move. Just sat there not saying a word. For five hours. It was kind of creepy."

"Okay. Give us a minute to get ready, then bring him up to the dining room. I want Van Pelt upstairs and you on the monitors. Ryan is staying down here. If… or when… we cut Knox loose, l don't want him knowing anything about the kid or Patricia. At least not from us."

"Got it, boss," Rigsby said and turned back for the garage.

Lisbon turned to Jane. "Get your mother, Jane. We'll meet you in the dining room."

Jane searched her eyes. He wanted to say everything was going to be okay at the same time he wanted the same assurance from her, which had the effect of cancelling out any hope of things ending well. They would just have to do what they had to do and whatever was going to happen would happen.

"Go on, Jane," Lisbon said. The tenderness with which she said it helped, and Jane turned to go ask his mother for help once again.

He found her standing at the picture window looking out at the backyard now awash in morning sun. She was dressed, obviously showered, and when she heard him coming, she turned and smiled as if she had been expecting him all along.

He stood, the table between them, and frowned at her.

She gave a quick laugh. "You're experiencing what the people in your life deal with all the time from you." Something caught her attention. "Well, you're experiencing a nicer version of it."

"You said you wouldn't pursue," he said, growing more annoyed and uncomfortable as he realized he would always be an open book to her now.

"I'm not," she said. "It is becoming like it used to be between us. For me, I mean. The way it was for me. Even more than what it was like yesterday. I'm sorry, I can't help seeing you now."

"Then you know why I'm here."

"Yes. I'm happy to help."

Jane went and sat at the head of the table, facing the kitchen. Patricia took the seat Ryan had the night before on the other end.

"I do have a question, though," Patricia said.

Jane wondered if visualizing some sort of protective shield around him would work against his mother's insight into him. "What."

"I'm curious why you are so adamantly opposed to people with our abilities."

Jane sighed and looked out the window. "Why does it matter?"

"You obviously have strong feelings about it. I'm just curious how that happened."

He shrugged. "I've never known anyone who claimed to have psychic abilities that didn't want to benefit financially. It's a con dressed up in the supernatural."

"You were one of those people."

"Yes. For a long time."

"And now you hate yourself for it." She shook her head, her eyebrows knit together into a deep inquiry. "These beliefs … they're a contradiction." She suddenly looked at him, eyes wide. "And they are not yours." She was clearly surprised.

"What?" He had to stop himself from squirming.

"Your belief about psychics is your Achilles heel, your _Kryptonite_."

Her emphasis on Kryptonite made Jane suddenly remember her reading the Superman novel _Last Son of Krypton_ to him on a long truck ride through the West Texas desert. He got car sick and so she had read it to him, performing all the characters in different voices, including the evil Lex Luthor and the ghost of Albert Einstein.

"What do you mean?"

She looked hard at him now. "He weakened you and then lied to you and you believed him. I see a note. He left you a note."

Jane's heart stopped and his throat closed up. He swallowed hard and a strangled gasp escaped at the end of it. Then his heart kicked into overdrive and his limbs went all loosey.

His mother stared into him and said clearly and sternly: "He wanted to damage you as much he had been damaged."

Tears sprang to his eyes and he gasped for breath.

"You actually told the truth about him, so he had to shut you up. He hurt you so badly you haven't been able to see what is really true ever since."

Jane saw Lisbon coming towards them and he struggled to catch his breath.

"What the hell is going on?" Lisbon asked.

She looked shocked and Jane couldn't answer her, wouldn't know what to say even if he could talk. His mother was still looking hard him, like she was boring right down inside of him.

"Jesus Christ," Lisbon said, "What the hell are you doing?"

His mother finally looked away, like she had just heard Lisbon. "Something very necessary," she said. She stood and came over to sit next him.

Lisbon turned abruptly and shouted, "Van Pelt, hold up. Take him back down—we're not ready for him yet."

His mother took his hand. "Patrick, look at me," she said.

Tears slipped down his face. He knew where she wanted to take him and he didn't want to go there, didn't want her to see any of that.

"Patrick, listen to me."

Lisbon came over and stood next to him, putting her hand on his shoulder. "This is _not_ the time for this," she seethed to Patricia.

"This is exactly the time for it," his mother said. "He's suffered enough under this illusion. It has to end."

"We're _this_ close to getting something solid on Red John and you're doing this now? _Why_?"

His mother looked up at Lisbon and calmly said, "Because even if Patrick killed Red John with his own hands, he would still be tormented by the inner demons Red John planted inside him." She turned to him and said, "Your revenge will do nothing to end your suffering if you do not distinguish the truth from the lie."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he gasped. He tried to pull his hand away but she kept a tight hold of it.

Lisbon had both hands on his shoulders now and was leaning in to press her cheek against his head. She whispered in his ear, "Just breathe, Jane. Just calm down and breathe."

"You told the truth, Patrick. Everything you said on that TV show was the truth and you didn't make it up. It wasn't a guess, educated or otherwise. _You just knew it_. You dressed it up to make it sound more dramatic, because that's what you do. You're a showman. And you were everything Red John was not: beautiful, happy, attached, contented, celebrated. That's what he hated most of all—that someone like you could expose him to such a wide audience. And now you hate yourself for not knowing what he was going to do to your wife and daughter. You say that you were a fake psychic back then, and you were—some of the time. Sometimes you just made stuff up, but it was always based on what you knew the person wanted to hear. Even when you closed everything off, stuffed it all into that room of yours, you still knew things. You _still know things_ that can't be explained."

She squeezed his hand tight, like she was trying to force him to understand her meaning. He heard what she was saying but like everything with her, it was too much. He was breathing better, still shallow, but better.

"You will appreciate the paradox one day, Patrick."

"No, I should have known," he said. "If I were a real psychic, I would have known."

"No, not necessarily," she insisted. "People like us are not God. We are not all-knowing. It can be very hit or miss. We make mistakes. We're human. You made mistakes, with your wife, with your reading of Red John. We all make mistakes, Patrick. Sometimes it takes 30-something years to even understand how big of a mistake we've made."

He looked at her now and saw the painful plea in her eyes.

"Do not spend another day believing what that monster told you. Forgive yourself, Patrick, and move on. It is the only way you will truly end his hold over you. It's the only way you will truly stop him. The inner demons are always more horrific and harder to be rid of, but you have to do it."

She had found his deep well of sorrow and exposed it to a light so bright he was momentarily blinded. Lisbon's hands slid down his shoulders and wrapped him into a hug from behind. She held him as he closed his eyes tight and let the tears fall. He knew there was truth to what his mother said, but it contradicted everything he had held onto for the last ten years and a part of him wanted desperately to hold fast to the familiar. Lisbon held him tight and began kissing him, his ear, his cheek, the place just below his ear. At some point he realized that she was crying too and he reached up and grabbed onto her arm with his free hand. His mother still held his other hand and was now rubbing his forearm soothingly.

At another point—he didn't know how long it took—all the pain and regret and self-hatred broke apart. He had a sensation of a hard, crusty sheath wrapped around his heart actually breaking into tiny pieces and falling away. The sense of relief and freedom was instant and a small laugh escaped with his tears. Then he saw something else. He opened his eyes and looked at his mother. He knew that everything she had said was true, but there was more.

Fear. Fear had fueled it all.

Red John hadn't just hated being exposed, he had feared that the exposure would diminish his "fearful symmetry." That was what fueled him: other people's fear. And as fearless of his own life as Jane had been over the years, he realized that his whole agenda with the CBI was based on the fearful premise that he would never be complete while Red John continued to live. The truth was that he could never be whole again until he truly understood that Red John was an ugly, tormented little man—the loneliest soul on the planet and hardly someone worthy of losing a decade of his life to.

His mother smiled at him. He heard her say, _You're such a smart boy. _He remembered how she used to talk to him like that and it made him smile. He wiped his eyes and Lisbon loosened her arms around him.

"It's okay, Lisbon," he said. "You can bring Knox up now."

"Are you sure?" she asked, surprised.

"Yes. It's okay."

Lisbon squeezed his shoulders and went to get Knox. He heard his mother say, _She's good for you_ and he turned to her and told her, _Don't push it_.

She let go a breathy laugh. "Fine," she said and let go of his hand.

"I still don't know what to do with Knox," he said.

"You don't have to do anything. Just open yourself up. Just ask yourself questions and see what answers come."

Lisbon was back with Van Pelt leading Knox towards them in handcuffs. Cho followed. Knox was neither handsome nor ugly but held the demeanor of someone used to blending into the background. Even his green golf shirt and khaki pants seemed a mild-mannered camouflage meant to incite no immediate reaction from anyone. His brown hair was graying and his face had a washed-out look, like all the color had been drained away a long time ago. He seemed completely unruffled by his predicament, though Jane saw that it was a façade he could easily crack.

Lisbon went and sat next to Patricia, slapping the Knox file down on the table. Van Pelt sat Knox down across from Lisbon and then took the seat next to him. Cho held back, standing off to the side.

Knox looked at Patricia and then Jane, and Jane saw recognition flicker briefly in his eyes.

"We've brought you here for questioning in relation to an ongoing investigation we're conducting," Lisbon said.

Knox looked at her but remained unfazed.

"Specifically, we have questions about your income tax fraud case back in 2009. Do you remember that, Mr. Knox?"

"Of course," Knox said.

"You went before Yolo County Superior Court Judge Stephen J. Osgood. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"According to the documents filed in that case, you lost over three million dollars in a hedge fund that went south. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"How does a small-time bean counter living on the outskirts of Sacramento come up with three million dollars to invest?"

Knox smiled slyly. "I ate a lot of sack lunches at work."

Lisbon pressed her lips together and starting looking through the file. "You were audited after you filed your 2008 tax return. Do you remember the name of that auditor?"

"No. I don't recall."

Jane knew Lisbon was stalling, giving him and Patricia time to get a feel for Knox. That and she wanted to get Knox used to some easy questions before she nailed him with harder ones. The problem was Jane wasn't getting anything that he didn't already know before Knox arrived: he was a stooge, a mindless disciple that truly believed he'd found his calling, a stupid, bland little man who could be led to worship a deranged killer with the snap of a finger.

"Michael Powell," Lisbon said. "His name was Michael Powell."

Jane saw his mother studying Knox. He wondered what she was seeing, and she must have sensed him watching her because she turned to him as if distracted.

_Just ask questions_, she said. _Wait for the answers._

Jane frowned at her, annoyed. For every inch he gave, she took two miles. She smiled, bemused, and then turned back to studying Knox. He turned back too.

"Okay, Michael Powell," Knox said.

"How well did you know Gary and Gayle Malone?" Lisbon asked.

Jane stared at Knox and told himself to completely relax, to breathe from the belly. He opened his mind to allow free flowing thoughts, knowing that there were any number of questions he could ask, but he was already growing impatient with Lisbon's line of questioning and he wanted to ask only the right questions.

"I didn't know them. They simply managed my investments. Badly."

_Is that the truth?_ Jane asked himself. Very quickly he got _No, he knew them_ as an answer. He went with it.

Q: _How did he know them? _

_A: Socially. They were acquaintances before Knox knew Red John._

_Q: Did he know the daughter, Abbie?_

_A: No. He knew them before she was born, and only kept in touch through an investing circle. But he was always smitten with Gayle._

"You filed for bankruptcy," Patricia said. "That must have been hard for a man who loves solvency as much as you do."

Everyone at the table looked at Patricia in surprise except for Knox. And Jane. Jane was more interested in Knox. He saw a flash of shame and then anger and then bland denial.

"It was a historic time for the market. I was not alone in having to take that option," Knox said.

_Q: Is he angry at Red John for making him declare bankruptcy?_

_A: Yes, but not consciously. _

"No, of course," Patricia said and smiled. "You got to keep your house. You still have more than most Americans. That's a _very_ nice house you have."

Knox smiled wanly. "Yes, it is."

"What year was that again?" Lisbon asked, flipping through the file and covering the news of a bankruptcy.

"2010."

"You paid 1.2 million under the asking price of a 3.5 million dollar home at the height of market. How did you manage that?" Patricia asked sweetly.

Jane watched his mother, wondering what she was going after.

Knox stared at Patricia. "How do you know that?"

"I'm sorry," Lisbon said. "Let me get this straight. You invest three million dollars that the state of California can't really say where it came from into a hedge fund that tanks. You cheat on your taxes to save some money and get caught. You're charged and forced to pay back taxes and then declare bankruptcy and get to keep a three million dollar home? Again, I gotta ask: where is a small-time bean counter getting all this money?

"He's very resourceful," Patricia said. "It's not unheard of, Agent Lisbon. The phenomenon of the unsuspecting millionaire next door is not uncommon in America."

"Not resourceful enough," Van Pelt said. "He went bankrupt like all the other losers that joined the party and drank too much of the Kool-aid."

Jane saw Knox look angrily at Patricia, his jaw clenching. "Who are you?"

Patricia smiled at him. "I'm a friend of the CBI."

Jane watched his mother, trying to understand her angle and drawing a complete blank.

Knox scoffed. "No you're not."

That was interesting.

_Q: Did Red John really tell low-level underlings like Knox about the CBI?_

_A: Yes, if that kind of inner circle-ness made them feel special._

"I know who everyone is here except you. You're not CBI," Knox said smugly.

And with that Jane saw they had him – all because of his mother. She had delivered him to them in a way that even Knox didn't know he'd been rendered completely theirs of his own free will.

Patricia simply smiled. As Jane watched her, he heard say, _Dig deeper_. _Open the portal on him._

Adrenaline spiked through him. She was right; he should do that, but— he had to admit—he was afraid. Of his new-found abilities. Of what Knox might know.

_It's okay, Patrick. He has never witnessed a traumatic death._

"She's a _friend_ of the CBI," Lisbon said.

Jane visualized the portal opening to Alexander Knox and he immediately saw a small, dinghy house completely devoid of furniture and fixtures. He understood the house represented Knox's interior life: empty and not attended to.

_Q: How did that happen?_

_A: A sadistic father, a weak mother. His father devoured his personality before he could tie his shoes._

Jane instantly knew why Knox was attracted to Red John: he could never please his father, so he wants to please Red John.

_Q: Does he have anyone else in his life?_

The answer wasn't easy. Jane saw a montage of Knox through the years. He was the kid on the outer fringes of everything, the one that goes unnoticed until something odd or embarrassing happens. What few friends he had during the school years were equally unnoticeable, though even they got annoyed at his general passivity to the world at large and the tyrannical aggressiveness he showed towards them when they didn't do what he wanted. He never kept friends for long.

But there was a girl. In college. Sheila. The happiness that Knox experienced because of the love she showed him was like that of a starving man discovering a banquet table full of fine foods. She seemed to understand how he was damaged and loved him anyway. She was a little damaged herself, of course. It lasted two years and he ruined it by trying to control her completely and he's been alone ever since.

_Q: Where and when did Red John find him?_

_A: He worked in some cubicle hell part of the state government. Red John groomed him, made him feel special, too good for his job, unappreciated by the powers that be. _

Jane knew he should try and go to that first meeting, or any meeting after, all the way up to the last one, but now that he was right on the cusp of knowing who Red John was, he found that he was not mentally prepared. He needed to stall, he needed to get ready, and Knox was no Miriam Gottlieb. Knox would soon realize his real predicament and go silent, and Jane decided he would spend some time trying to turn him.

"Red John didn't tell you everything," Jane said. Everyone at the table turned and looked at him. "Because he doesn't know everything."

Knox smiled smugly.

"He didn't tell you about our friend here, and he didn't warn you that we were coming for you. In fact, he doesn't even know you are here."

"He knows everything the CBI knows," Knox said, still smiling. "And I want my lawyer now."

Everyone but Lisbon was smiling now. She pressed her lips together.

"The CBI doesn't know anything about this investigation. _They_ don't know anything about you, let alone know that you're here.

Knox's smugness clearly faltered.

"Do you really think the CBI would come in the dead of night and drive you five hours _away_ from Sacramento headquarters to ask you questions?" Jane asked.

"No one outside of this house knows our exact location. We are offline, so to speak," Lisbon said tersely.

Knox looked down at the table. "Then I'm done talking."

"Okay," Jane said. "That's okay. I'll talk for you. How about that?"

Knox looked at him and Jane saw everything. He saw and felt everything about Knox's relationship with Red John, everything except Red John's face.

"Your father ruined you by the time you were five. He was a sadistic man you had no chance of ever pleasing. It's why you are so devoted to Red John. He reminds you of your father, but he's kinder. You do things that actually please him, and his sadism is directed at others. Never you. Well, never in the cruelly brutal way your father did it. But he did make you go through a financial meltdown with money that wasn't even yours. He made you go through the shame of a bankruptcy. A finance guy going through bankruptcy. He took some pleasure in that. No, he took a lot of pleasure in that. You keep the books of others, but the world now knows you can't keep your own in the black. And yet you're still devoted to him. He likes that best of all. He humiliated you by ruining you in the only thing you're good at and yet you're still devoted to him. He likes that. You've pleased him. It feels good, doesn't it?

Jane saw Knox's face starting to crumble. It was not unlike what he imagined his own face looked like when his mother showed him the truth moments earlier.

"You think it's love, don't you? You think what you feel for him is love, and you think he feels love for you. You've been alone for so long—all your life mostly—you think it's the real thing.

A tear slid down Knox's cheek and his lips trembled.

"It's not," Jane said. He stopped and looked at Knox and what he saw were all the lines of his life crossing and cris-crossing, all the origins of thoughts that built such an empty life. "You want to know how I know?

More tears slid down Knox's face. He was looking at Jane like Jane was about to give him the prophecy of his life.

"I know how much Sheila loved you. You only remember how she left you, but if you can remember how she loved you, you'll remember what true love is. There's no humiliation in true love."

He heard his mother say, _Patrick_.

He looked at her. She smiled like she understood and he heard her say, _You're afraid the life you've built will end. It will. It should. It's not a full life anyway._

He frowned, not understanding what she was saying.

_You're afraid you will be lost without Red John, with no meaningful purpose. You won't be. You are lost now. You will find a greater purpose. _

_Stop it_.

_Look at all the people in this house who love you, who will be here for you. _

_Stop it._

_It's okay, Patrick. It's safe. You can see him now. You can see him and not be afraid. It's safe. You're safe. You're loved. You're wise._

He saw the tears in her eyes and he suddenly understood why she would say such a thing to her child every night, why _he_ would say such a thing to his child. They knew. They knew without knowing what was coming. In every moment they had uttered those words, they were true. Until they weren't.

"Jane?" Lisbon asked.

He closed his eyes tight. His mother was right. He was avoiding the inevitable, so he let himself see. He looked at Knox who was weeping silently now and he saw. Jane saw Red John as clear as he saw his mother and Lisbon sitting across the table from him.


	43. Chapter 43

_Thanks everyone for such enthusiastic reviews. Sorry for the delay after such a cliff hanger. My timing was off as I had to host a lot of out-of-towners who came in for my week-long birthday party. Hope you enjoy this one as much as the last. :)_

* * *

Kirkland. Bob Mealy-Mouthed Kirkland. A wave of repulsion shot through Jane as he suddenly realized the implications. Homeland Security. Terrorism. The man charged with protecting Americans at home from terrorism was a serial killer. Red John—no—Kirkland—probably got off endlessly on that.

Jane stood, a little shakily, and went over to Knox. Putting a hand on Knox's shoulder he said, "You're going to go downstairs to a little cot and you're going to go to sleep. You'll sleep very deeply and peacefully and you won't wake up until you hear my voice. Do you understand?"

Knox nodded and Jane looked to Lisbon who was watching him with concern and surprise. And then she saw.

"Cho," Lisbon said, "Take Mr. Knox downstairs."

Jane turned and made the long walk back to his bedroom. His revulsion had given way to shock, and as he came to the hallway, he experienced tunnel vision. All he could see was the door he had to get to. All he could think of was getting to the safety of his bedroom, getting to a place where he could think and sort through what it all meant.

_Bob Mealy-Mouthed Kirkland._

Jane left the door open for Lisbon, who soon arrived.

"Jane?" she asked closing the door behind her.

Every cell in his body buzzed, ready to implode. A tightness in his temples signaled a headache approaching. "It's Kirkland, Lisbon. Kirkland is Red John."

Lisbon stopped in her tracks, her mouth opening as she took in what he said. A soft "Sonovabitch," escaped as realization dawned.

Jane began pacing to keep from imploding. He rubbed his temples. Kirkland. Kirkland. What did he know about Kirkland?

"_Sonovabitch,_" Lisbon said, coming back to herself with anger.

One. He had shaken hands with Kirkland. In a hallway. Kirkland had made the exchange happen.

Two. He'd shown up for the Volker case but gotten involved only after Jane broke Lorelei out of prison. Without any explanation as to why her escape would warrant involvement by Homeland Security. And now Jane knew why. Lorelei had not just been a disciple—she'd been Kirkland's lover. Her escape would have caused alarm, even fear, because Kirkland had suspected Jane's part from the start.

"_Sonovabitch_," Lisbon said, "I went on a coffee date with him."

Jane stopped pacing and looked at her. She looked sickened by the memory.

Three. Kirkland had gone on a coffee date with Lisbon. Was he sussing her interest out? Seeing if she was actively dating or not?

A new wave of revulsion overcame him as he thought of Kirkland pursuing Lisbon after sending his own lover to seduce Jane. Jane now realized that Lorelei shared their tryst with Lisbon in the interrogation room, called him lover, and then asked him to kiss her knowing that Lisbon would be watching or listening. Jane's head pounded now with the madness of it all. A queasiness reared up and propelled him to the bathroom where he safely emptied the contents of his breakfast into the toilet bowl.

Lisbon kept a hand on his back until he was done, then she went and wetted a washcloth with cold water. Shakey and sweaty, Jane sat leaning against the bowl. She came and sat next to him, handing him the washcloth. He wiped his mouth, then folded it and held it against his forehead.

Four. Kirkland had been at Lorelei's murder scene. Probably to see the effect it had. Jane's mouth tasted like garbage and his head was killing him.

Five. Bertram had given Kirkland the Jason Lennon case and Kirkland was the last person to see Lennon alive.

Bertram.

"Does Bertram know where we are?" he asked.

Lisbon shook her head. "No one knows," she said.

"You said no one knows _exactly_, but does he know generally?"

Lisbon looked at him, wheels turning. "He knows we're in Santa Clarita."

"Get Van Pelt to dig up Kirkland. What did he do before Homeland Security? His work records will match up with the Red John murders. I'm sure of it. See where he might have crossed into Bertram's life. But she has to do it without anyone knowing."

"Okay, I'll do that," she said. She reached out and took the washcloth from him. "Are you done here?" she asked.

Jane nodded and Lisbon helped him up. He bent over the sink and rinsed his mouth as Lisbon pulled out her cell phone and called Van Pelt. She gave Van Pelt directions as Jane brushed his teeth then took a long drink from the stream of water. When he finished, he stood and leaned against the sink. She snapped her cell phone shut and studied him.

"You don't look so good," she said.

"I have a headache."

"Come on," she said and took his hand. She led him out to the bed and then nudged him to it.

He stretched out and then turned onto his side facing her. She sat next to him and he reached out to grab onto her. He had slept more in the last few days than he had in the last few months and yet he was tired again. His head pounded a steady beat and he closed his eyes. He felt her hand on his shoulder.

"Will you come back?" he asked. "I know you have to go, but will you come back and stay with me?" He was going to fall asleep and he didn't want to wake up alone.

"Maybe," Lisbon said. "I'll try, but if you think Bertram is involved with Red John, Jane—we might have to move. Fast."

"I don't know if he is, but no one higher up has ever questioned why Homeland Security has been involved since Lorelei escaped. They should have. There's no reason. The murders have all been California. It's CBI and FBI. Yet Bertram just gave Kirkland full access. Why is that?"

She ran her hand down his arm. "Sonuvabitch, Jane. I swear to God if he's part of it, I'm … I'm…"

He opened his eyes and saw her anger, an anger so raw she couldn't even articulate it.

"Use that anger, Lisbon. Use it to get what you need. Wake me up if you find anything."

"I will," she said. "Do you want some aspirin or anything?"

"No. I'm just going to sleep."

"Okay, I'll be back. I promise." She bent down and kissed him and then left him to sleep.

The next thing he knew he was walking through the front door of his house. He stopped and surveyed the great emptiness, and in that instance he knew something was off. But he was moving again and didn't have time to figure out what was wrong, just that something was wrong. He was propelled towards the stairs and as he climbed them he became aware of a split within: in some distant background he felt the familiar sadness and heartache he always felt after seeing Charlotte's tricycle and climbing the stairs to the bedroom, but more immediately he felt a particular smugness and… gleeful anticipation. He was at the top of the stairs, walking towards the bedroom and then it hit him: he was Kirkland.

He startled awake in a horrifying panic, sucking in a great gulp of air at the shock of discovery. His eyes flew open. He was in his bedroom in the safe house. Lisbon was on the bed with him with a laptop. He closed his eyes and turned to her, the tears coming suddenly as he thought of how Kirkland had made that same trek ten years ago, walking through the front door with that same anticipation, knowing that Angela and Charlotte…. He was sobbing now.

"Oh, Jane," he heard Lisbon say. Soon she was holding and soothing him.

The bottom was about to fall out beneath him and Jane held on. He didn't want to go there anymore so he forced himself to calm down. It didn't take long. He had Lisbon now, he had a future beyond Red John. He just had to get past this part. He stopped his crying and grabbed hold of her tight. He just had to find a foothold in what the information was providing him.

"I was walking through my house in Malibu," he told her. "I was Kirkland and I was walking up the stairs to the bedroom."

"Oh my God, Jane," Lisbon said.

"No, it wasn't that. It was my house now. The way it is now. He's going back there. He's going to do it again and put them there."

Lisbon tightened in his arms. "Oh my God."

Jane opened himself up to the rest of the story. "It's going to be complicated. He has to bring them there alive. It's going to be harder to pull off, but he is determined to do it that way."

Lisbon was quiet. He could almost hear her thoughts.

"He wants them to be from Malibu, to be more like … Angela and Charlotte." Jane saw pictures of women. "He's using the DMV database. He's probably cross-referencing with preschools."

"Sonovabitch." Lisbon unwrapped herself from him and stood up.

"Yes," Jane said.

Lisbon looked at him. "Are you going to be all right?"

"Yes." A heaviness still pressed down on him and he was going to sleep again, but now he was not sure he wanted to. What else was going to come unbidden in his dreams?

"You still don't look so good."

"I'm tired."

"How's your headache?"

"It's gone. You should go to the team, Lisbon. You need to get them on the same search he is doing. Malibu is not that big. Twelve thousand residents at most."

"You are dealing with a lot here, Jane. I'm worried about you."

"Just go. I'll be fine."

Lisbon frowned and then sighed. She reached down and picked up the laptop, then bending over him, she kissed him sweetly on the lips. It was the kind of kiss that inspired men to stay alive in battle just to experience it again.

"I'll be fine," he whispered.

And then she was gone.

When he woke again it was to a sound he couldn't place. He opened his eyes and turned onto his back. He saw his mother sitting in the chair by the window reading a book. She looked up at him and closed the book on her finger.

Lisbon. He sighed deeply. Patricia stood up and came over to him. He turned onto his side, repositioning the pillow. She sat near the foot of the bed looking at him.

"You said I could control it," he said. "I can't exactly do that when I'm dreaming."

"No, you can't."

"So, you were just telling me what I wanted to hear yesterday. Is that it?"

"No, Patrick."

"What then?"

She took a moment before saying, "Sometimes the messages are so important they come through whether you want them to or not. This was one of those messages."

"So I can't really control any of it."

"You can. It's just different for everyone. You'll figure it out. You are quite good at self study."

Jane sighed again and closed his eyes.

"You're going to get him, Patrick. He's not going to kill again."

Jane opened his eyes, startled. "How do you know that? Do you see something?"

She shook her head. "No. I just know it. I just feel it. This is all going to be over soon."

He sat up, moving back so he could lean on the headboard, and looked at her hard. He didn't know what to say. Too many thoughts raced through his sleepy head.

"I can't tell you how, only that it will be."

As he stared at her, a strong wave of emotion moved through him, and he was surprised there was more grief than relief. Why was that?

"You know why," Patricia said.

He shook his head.

"You've held on so tightly to your wife and child. When he is gone, you will need to let them go."

Tears sprang to his eyes.

"Patrick," she said. "You do understand that what you've been planning all along for him doesn't give you a happy ending."

He wiped the tears away.

"That's never mattered to you," she said. "Deep down, you don't believe you deserve a happy ending. But you do. And actually, you've already got your happy ending."

He looked at her. Clearly she was crazy.

She laughed softly at the look on his face. "It's true. You've allowed yourself to love again. Fully. It's a beautiful thing to see."

He heard the regret in her words.

"You're a lot stronger and smarter than me," she said.

Right then he saw all the threads of her life that connected him to her, all the threads that reached back to her parents and their parents. He understood how her experiences shaped her thoughts and how her thoughts shaped her actions. She was a sensitive soul who had lived a very hard life for the first half of it, and had spent the softer second half of it being very hard on herself. But in the short time they had had together, she'd given him safety and warmth and unconditional love. He knew how to love because of her.

"You made me that way," he said.

She smiled at him with gratitude and shook her head. "You came that way."

"Every child comes that way. And then their life happens. You gave me a wonderful life for the first ten years, so wonderful I couldn't bear to remember it when it was gone. It could have been very different, given how you were raised. You should remember that."

He saw her taking in what he said like it was such foreign idea she couldn't process it.

Jane suddenly saw his house all lit up at night and he instantly realized what it meant: there would be no husband to discover them. In that moment, he understood Kirkland's timeline.

"You see something," his mother said.

"I know how to stop him. I know where and how and when he is planning the next one. You're right. It's all over."


	44. Chapter 44

Jane found Lisbon in the laundry room, set up with the laptop and guarding a slumbering Knox. He motioned for her to come to him and she followed him into the rec room.

"What is it?" she asked, closing the door behind her.

"I know when Kirkland is planning to kill again."

"You're kidding," Lisbon said with equal parts skepticism and hope.

"What day is it?" Jane asked.

"Friday." She looked at him and he waited until she understood. "He's planning for Monday," she said.

"Yes. Lorelei was the anomaly. He needs the weekend to plan."

"Jesus."

"But this one is different still. The house is empty. No one will find them unless he does something to alert people. He has to get there in the cover of night with the victims still alive. When he's done he has to wait until daylight. He'll turn all the lights on so when it gets dark again the neighbors will notice. It's a stupid plan but he's intent on doing it this way. He thinks this will break me."

Lisbon's wheels were working, listening to him and thinking ahead. "We need to get to Malibu," she said. "Bertram has already threatened to come down here, and we need to get to Malibu without any CBI resources. Our credit cards, the SUVs, the phones—we've concealed them, but we need to go deeper undercover."

"I can take care of that," Jane said.

"We still don't know _who_," Lisbon said. "Van Pelt and I are going through the Malibu DMV records, but, Jane, could that be something you do?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think you could you look at the pictures and narrow down the women Kirkland would pick? I'd rather get Kirkland _before_ he kidnaps an innocent woman and her child."

"Oh," Jane said. The request stopped him cold as he thought through what she meant.

"I'm sorry to ask," Lisbon said. "I just… we don't have much time. We need to clear out of –"

"No, it's okay. I can do it."

"Are you sure? I don't want—"

"It's okay."

Lisbon studied him. He could see she wanted to ask him something but she was holding back. "What about Knox?" she finally asked.

"We'll put him on a bus for Sacramento. He won't remember a thing."

"Okay," she said. "And thanks, Jane. I really didn't want to ask."

He shrugged it off.

She turned to the team and said, "Okay, listen up."

As Lisbon gave the team the new info and assigned duties, Jane went over to Ryan who was shooting pool on the now cleared pool table. Jane found the sight of Ryan still in the CBI sweats and t-shirt annoying.

"You should get dressed and packed," Jane said. "We're going to be leaving soon. Tell your—our—mother."

"I don't have anything to pack," Ryan said. He sank a ball in the far corner. Straightening, he looked at Jane. "Where are we going?"

"Malibu."

"Where you used to live?" Ryan asked. "I heard Agent Lisbon," he said as way of explanation.

"Yes."

Ryan nodded. "Thanks for letting my mom…for letting her help."

"I didn't do it for you."

"Of course not," Ryan said and half-laughed at the obviously ludicrous idea. "You didn't do it for her either. I don't get the sense that you do much for anyone but yourself." He went to line up another shot. "And yet somehow we might benefit from you curbing your asshole-ishness."

"Yes, and maybe the woman and child a serial killer is planning to kill will benefit as well."

Ryan straightened, looking suitably chagrined. Jane immediately saw him as a child first learning about what his mother did, the people she helped and the scarier people she had visions about. He had always secretly felted cheated of her attention and then ashamed because didn't he have it better than all of them? And yet Jane saw that Ryan had been right: as privileged and protected as he had been, he never had their mother's full attention. He never really came first. It was why he had railed so long and hard against his parent's protectiveness as an adolescent. What struck Jane was how easily Ryan had come to accept his lot in life, his compassion for his mother's lot winning out over any resentment or anger. It was admirable, really.

"Look," Jane said, "this is all going to be over soon. You'll be able to go back to your life, to your girlfriend."

Ryan's eyes widened. "Is that what she said?"

"Yes."

Ryan slumped in relief.

"She'll be different now," Jane said. "She'll be better."

"Did she say that too?" Ryan asked with a touch of hope.

"No. I say it."

"Oh."

"She's going to start feeling remorse about you. She'll try to make things up to you. You should let her."

Ryan's mouth dropped open.

"Go get changed," Jane said. "We'll probably be leaving here fast."

By the time Cho returned from dropping a thoroughly hypnotized Knox at the bus station, the whole team and their guests were ready to go. They took only the equipment and gear they needed. They left the victim boards and monitors and SUVs. Lisbon didn't question how Jane was able to pay for what they had planned: motel rooms, burner cell phones, and three cab fares for the hour-long trek they were all about to make. She just told him she was glad he had the means.

Lisbon split them between three adjoining rooms on the second floor of the Malibu Motel on the Pacific Coast Highway, a two-story white stucco building with aqua blue trim. Patricia and Ryan took up residence on one side of what would become the team headquarters and Jane took a room on the other.

Once everyone had arrived, they met in the center room and Lisbon laid out her plan.

"Okay everyone, we are not taking any chances of being discovered. That means no one goes out unless absolutely necessary. We're lying low for now. We're in much tighter quarters and we need to maintain harmony. Hopefully, we'll only be here a couple days at most. If Jane's right, Kirkland will be making a move on Sunday. Best case, that gives us maybe 48 hours to find the woman and child before he does. Worst case, we get him at Jane's house before he hurts anyone. Either way, we need to be ready for either option and everything in between. Cho and Rigsby, you're going to pick up the rental cars and phones. Van Pelt how is the connection coming?"

"I've got the laptop masked and ready for Jane. I'm still working on the getting the other computers up."

"Good. Jane, Van Pelt has the DMV records filtered to women between 25 and 50. Cho, Rigbsy, get back here ASAP."

"Okay, boss," Cho and Rigsby said in unison and headed out.

Jane pushed off the wall he was leaning on and turned to go to his room where the laptop awaited. He sat at the desk and flipped the laptop open. Lisbon soon arrived, sitting on the edge of the bed closest to him.

"There shouldn't be that many to go through," she said. "Van Pelt and I got through a couple hundred already."

"A few hundred more," he said. "The odds of finding a white woman with long blonde hair and a young daughter are pretty slim. What if I don't find anyone?"

"We'll expand the search to include neighboring areas. If we run out of time, we'll stake out the house."

"Right."

"Jane, you going to be okay with this?"

He shrugged her question off. "Yeah, sure."

"How are you going to do it?" she asked. "I mean, are you going to use your super powers?"

He looked at her. "I don't know. I haven't really thought about it."

"I'd have Van Pelt do it, but I need her to help me with mapping the areas around your house and prepping for surveillance."

"I told you I can do it."

"I know, but Jane…"

"What?"

"I don't know, you seem… unsettled. In a different way. In a way I don't know."

"Well, I think I'm doing pretty good for someone who is about to pick out a woman the way Red John—Kirkland—would—someone who looks like my wife."

Lisbon's eyes widened. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Jane. I shouldn't have asked you."

"No, Lisbon," Jane said. He went and sat next to her. "I mean, I really am doing pretty good, considering."

"Oh."

"Something has changed. I am different. I'm not reacting the way I would have even just yesterday. I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "I'm not… I don't know."

Lisbon softened next to him and reached out to take his hand. "She really helped you, didn't she."

"Yes. She did." Jane squeezed Lisbon's hand. He wished they had time to close the door and climb into bed. He could see Lisbon was curious but wouldn't ask because they had work to do.

"I'm glad," Lisbon said.

"She thinks you're good for me," he said.

Lisbon grinned. "Oh, yeah?"

Jane smiled.

"Well, I'm beginning to think she may be the one person in the world who can get you in line," Lisbon said.

"Don't hold your breath on that one."

"Hah," she said and pulled his hand to her. Then she went all business. "Okay, we've got things to do. I want to get this sonovabitch ASAP." She let go of his hand.

"Have you thought about calling backup when and if we need it?" Jane asked.

"Working on it."

"Well, when I'm done here, I can be of help."

"That's really great to hear, Jane. You have no idea."

"I think it's easier now that I know who it is. It's not some mythologized terrible beast. It's that mealy-mouthed creep," he said.

Lisbon scoffed. "Tell me about it. I can't believe I was that hard up for a date that I was a little excited when he asked me for a coffee."

Jane looked at her, taken aback by her candor. He sensed a download coming on and he looked away to prevent it. He stood up and went over to the desk, pushing away the knowledge of Lisbon's inner life that wanted to rush in. He started to talk just to make it stop. "You weren't hard up, Lisbon. You just didn't make time for that. You worked too much for a relationship to happen." He looked at her now. He wanted to add _and you're picky and opinionated and have been in love with me without ever acknowledging it to yourself_ but he knew it was not the time.

He saw her surprise. "And besides," he added, "between one state and two federal agencies, I haven't seen one man who'd be able to stand up to you."

Lisbon frowned. "Who says I want a man who can stand up to me?"

Jane tossed his head and rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. Trust me. You don't want a man you can walk all over."

"Okay," Lisbon said, standing. "This is neither the time nor place to discuss my love life."

"No, it's not."

Lisbon frowned and smiled at the same time. "You are really different, Jane, you know that? We're actually two steps ahead of … _Kirkland_ and you're talking about this."

"I know," Jane said, shaking his head. "I know. But I've seen things… I see things differently. What I saw today was that I've given that pathetic bastard 10 years of my life. I don't want to give him another minute."

He saw her regarding him in a different light and he saw she was concerned.

"We have to give more time to catch him, Jane," she said carefully.

He rolled his eyes. "I know that, Teresa." He saw Van Pelt at the door.

"Boss?"

Lisbon turned to her. "Yeah."

"I've got the computers online and masked. I'm ready when you are."

"All right. I'll be right there."

Jane saw Van Pelt survey the situation before leaving. Lisbon turned back to him with a cautious look. "Do you want me to get your mother?"

Jane closed his eyes and sighed. "No, Lisbon, I don't want you to get my mother. I want you to go out there and make a plan to catch that sonuvabitch once and for all." He turned and sat down at the desk, tapping the touchpad to bring the laptop to life.


End file.
